


more than three quarters

by alykapedia



Series: On Ice Trilogy: Limited Edition Box Set [1]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: AUTHOR AU, Getting Together, M/M, Mutual Pining, Slow Burn, Social Media, but probably not bc i am v impatient
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-05
Updated: 2017-07-19
Packaged: 2018-09-15 00:13:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 23,607
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9211334
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alykapedia/pseuds/alykapedia
Summary: Praise for On Ice: Violin“Poignant and touching—an exhilarating journey in just a few hundred pages. Yuuri Katsuki proves to us once again that he is a veritable genius of words.”—Kirkus Reviews“Katsuki’s sequel to the critically acclaimed On Ice: Piano is everything we ever wanted and more.”—Booklist“On Ice: Violin is an absolute wonder. If you’re going to read one book by Yuuri Katsuki this month, this better be it.”—Sara Crispino, author of Letters to the Venetian(Or: Yuri on Ice, the Author AU.)





	1. #SaveCocoa

**Author's Note:**

> idk man. yuri on ice was my entire life for 12 beautiful weeks and i'm now here to horrify everyone with an author au that no one (except me) wanted. 
> 
> i know absolutely nothing about the whole publishing business. pls suspend your disbelief for the meantime.

> **On Ice: Violin** _(On Ice Series #2)_  
>  by Yuuri Katsuki
> 
> 4.45/5   Rating Details    4,216 Ratings              378 Reviews
> 
> Following his comeback at the Chugoku, Shikoku, and Kyushu Championship, Japanese Figure Skater Koushi Yahaba makes his way to the Grand Prix Series, along with his new coach: Five Time World Champion, Nikolai Vasiliev.
> 
> Koushi has a long way to go if he wants to end up on the podium at the Grand Prix Final and win gold. Good thing he has …more
> 
> Hardcover, 398 pages  
>  Published April 14th 2016 by Detroit Books

 

.

 

**Praise for _On Ice: Violin_**

***

“Poignant and touching—an exhilarating journey in just a few hundred pages. Yuuri Katsuki proves to us once again that he is a veritable genius of words.”

—Kirkus Reviews

“Katsuki’s sequel to the critically acclaimed _On Ice: Piano_ is everything we ever wanted and more.”

—Booklist

“ _On Ice: Violin_ is an absolute wonder. If you’re going to read one book by Yuuri Katsuki this month, this better be it.”

—Sara Crispino, author of _Letters to the Venetian_

 

.

 

_“No fair, I wanted to do a review for your new book too!”_

Pulling the phone away from his ear, Yuuri Katsuki—New York Times best-selling author and winner of the Akutagawa and Naoki Prizes—squinted at the screen bearing his best friend’s grinning face. “Hello to you too, Phichit.” He greets, fumbling for his glasses on the bedside table before sitting up. “What are you talking about?” He adds at the end of a yawn, mind finally catching up on what Phichit had just said.

Phichit makes an aggrieved noise. “ _Sara Crispino did a review for On Ice: Violin!_ ”

“Oh, she did?” Huh, he thinks, that explains the e-mail he got from her a few months back. Yuuri hums, leaning against the headboard. “I haven’t checked.”

“ _Yuuri!_ ” Phichit shrieks and Yuuri sighs. “ _Your new book came out a week ago! Don’t tell me you haven’t even checked it out._ ”

He lets his silence speak for itself.

Really, Phichit should have known by now that he hasn’t and that he has no desire to. Yuuri will look at his published work only after the hype has died down, when he’s already immersed in a new work and free of the phantom of the old one. He’d long stopped obsessing over his newly-released titles, especially when that way only leads to anxiety-riddled nights poring over passages he could have written differently and plot holes he should have filled several chapters ago.

It doesn’t always work. There’s a self-destructive part of him that constantly wants to nitpick at things, but he’d washed his hands off of _On Ice: Violin_ as soon as Celestino had approved the final version for publishing.

“ _Geez, fine. But listen to me, it’s a very good book, and I’m not just saying that because we’re friends, okay? This legit made me cry, and you know the last time I cried because of a book was when Rudy died._ ”

Yuuri huffs out a laugh. “You need to let it go, Phichit.”

 _“He never found out that Liesl loved him, Yuuri!”_ Phichit yells and Yuuri is reminded of the first time they’d read _The Book Thief_. Phichit had said the same thing back then, tears streaming down his face and cursing Yuuri for even suggesting that they read the _stupid, sad, horrible death book_.

“Yes, yes.”

“ _Anyway_.” Phichit grumbles. “ _Go look at your damn book or I’m telling Ciao Ciao on you_.”

 

.

 

 **Christophe Giacometti** @christophe_gc

Congrats to @katsuki_yuuri on the new book!

70 retweets       90 likes

              **勝生** **勇利** @katsuki_yuuri √

              @christophe_gc thank you

                           

 **Phichit Chulanont** @phichit_chu √

read my freakout over @katsuki_yuuri’s amazing new book on my blog!!

179 retweets     200 likes

              **勝生** **勇利** @katsuki_yuuri √

              @phichit_chu you’re so ridiculous

                             **Phichit Chulanont** @phichit_chu √

                             @katsuki_yuuri im not IM SHOOK yuuri i am deceased your book has killed ME

                                            **勝生** **勇利** @katsuki_yuuri √

                                           @phichit_chu rest in pieces

                                                          **Phichit Chulanont** @phichit_chu √

                                                          @katsuki_yuuri SO MEAN

 

 **Viktor Nikiforov** @v-nikiforov

Just finished On Ice: Violin. I was not prepared for that kiss. Also #SaveCocoa

259 retweets     398 likes

              **Christophe Giacometti** @christophe_gc

              @v-nikiforov OMG #SaveCocoa?

                             **Viktor Nikiforov** @v-nikiforov

                             @christophe-gc Hush, cat person.

 

 **勝生** **勇利** @katsuki_yuuri √

#SaveCocoa is trending and I have 20 e-mails begging me ‘not to kill the doggo’ and 6 of them are from @phichit_chu

980 retweets     1,290 likes

              **Christophe Giacometti** @christophe_gc

             @katsuki_yuuri a friend of mine started that hashtag! HAHA he was so sad about Cocoa #SaveCocoa             

                             **Phichit Chulanont** @phichit_chu √

                            @christophe_gc damn your friend beat me to it!!

 **Phichit Chulanont** @phichit_chu √

             @katsuki_yuuri is2g this friendship is over if you kill off the doggo

                              **勝生** **勇利** @katsuki_yuuri √

                             @phichit_chu now that you put it that way #GoodbyeCocoa

 **COCOA LIVES 2k16** @kurotsukki56

             @katsuki_yuuri SENSEI PLS DON’T KILL COCOA

 

.

 

The thing is, Yuuri never imagined that he’d end up as an author at twenty-four.

As a kid, he did ballet under a family friend before getting into competitive figure skating. He wasn’t a natural or a genius on ice, or any of those things that would’ve made for a good story. Yuuri was just Yuuri. And Katsuki Yuuri who was quiet and unassuming and who had two friends in total, inevitably had a lot of free time on his hands and bucket loads of anxiety that only disappeared when he was dancing or skating. He’d made it as far as Nationals, had made waves in the Junior Division of the Grand Prix Series, had been preparing to make his Senior debut when Viktor Nikiforov, Yuuri’s north star, left the ice due to an injury, and had taken with him a piece of Yuuri’s heart and his motivation to skate.

It had been impossible to continue being on the ice when Viktor couldn’t.

So he’d stopped. He found the competition to be too much and too little, found the ice to be cold and uninviting without the breathtaking strains of Viktor Nikiforov’s choreography weaving before him. It sounds rather shallow and wholly inadvisable to base an entire career on a single person, but Yuuri had lost the fight, had misplaced the passion, and it had only hurt when he’d tried to continue without a spark in his center.

“What are you going to do?” Mari asks, not unkindly, cigarette perched on her lips after a season of flubbed jumps and messy step sequences.

“I don’t know.” He says quietly, because this wasn’t a conversation you have at sixteen with your sister. Not when you still have more to give. Not when you still have your whole life ahead of you. But Mari knows him and knows that skating had been _the plan_ until he was good enough to skate alongside Viktor Nikiforov or the ice tired of him, whichever came first. Neither of them expected that Yuuri would tire of the ice first. “I’ll finish school.”

Mari hums in understanding as she places a warm hand on his shoulder. “And after?”

“I was planning on applying to schools abroad. It—it was supposed to be for skating, but I think, I mean. I can probably reach the grade requirement for an academic scholarship if I study hard enough.” He says, all the while thinking _I can’t stay here anymore, I’ve failed everyone and I don’t deserve to stay here._

Mari nods and says with a gravity that makes Yuuri choke on a lump in his throat, “okay, if that’s what you want. We’ll be here to support you.” Because as much as they constantly fight over TV shows and house chores, Mari understands him when he doesn’t want anyone to.

The months between sixteen and eighteen blur into pages and pages of knowledge Yuuri crams inside his head with a drive he previously reserved for skating. He hits the books harder than he ever has, staying up all night learning English, shaping foreign words with a clumsy tongue and a frantic heart. The months leading to his high school graduation is good; Yuuri has a purpose and a brand new fire and a goal that he’s so close to achieving.

And then his dog dies.

Vicchan dies and opens up a pit right in the middle of Yuuri’s chest that threatens to consume him whole. Vicchan dies and Yuuri cries until his tears run dry. But it’s not enough, because Yuuri still feels so strongly, is fit to bursting with hurt, and the ice had become a stranger in the time he was away so he can’t let any of it out but he has to, needs to let it all out before he implodes. So he turns to ballet and dances, dances until his feet bleed and Minako yells at him.

And it’s still not enough.

He turns his attentions elsewhere then, skin crawling with a story waiting to be told, and finds the notebook where he’s scrawled down the beginnings of a short story for his Japanese Lit final. So he starts to write, lets the story bleed out of his fingertips into the paper. The cacophony in his head stops its onslaught for what feels like the first time in years and come morning, the two pages required by his teacher has turned into a twenty-three-page monster that Yuuri’s lost control of.

But his mind is clear, his heart is calm, the words that used to crawl helplessly on his skin locked in ink and paper.

Still, he doesn’t think much of the story he wrote when he submits it. It’s longer than anything he’s ever written before, and he knows he’s made countless mistakes along the way, but it’s done and Yuuri feels the way he used to feel after skating a program. Which is why he’s surprised when his Japanese Lit teacher calls on him one afternoon. And Yuuri who has never done anything remotely out of line at school and therefore has never been called on by a teacher, panics.

 _Maybe twenty-three pages was too much, maybe he wrote a few parts in English instead of Japanese, maybe he gave her the wrong file_ —

“Am I in trouble?” Yuuri blurts out as soon as Makoto-sensei sits down across from him, because he can’t think of any possible reason why his Japanese Lit teacher is calling him

Eyes widening behind thick glasses, Makoto-sensei shakes her head. “Oh, no. No, no, no. Far from it actually, Katsuki-kun.”

“Okay.”

“Yes, well.” She starts, clearing her throat a few times before meeting Yuuri’s gaze earnestly. “I called you here because I wanted to submit your work to a literary magazine. It’s very good and I really think you have a future in writing, if you don’t mind my saying.” She finishes with a smile that doesn’t even register to Yuuri because—

“You want to submit my work?” He echoes dumbly, blinking at his teacher in bemusement, because _what?_

“By proxy only, of course,” Makoto-sensei blurts out suddenly. “I’m not going to— _goodness_ —I’m not going to take credit for your work.” She assures him, although Yuuri never even considered that to be something that she would do. “It’s just, there’s a literary magazine where teachers can show off their students’ best works. They’ll publish your name and everything if you get selected for it.”

Chewing on his bottom lip, Yuuri asks, “you really think it’s good?”

“Yes, I do.” Makoto-sensei nods firmly. “It’s amazing, Katsuki-kun, if a bit too dark for my tastes.” She adds afterwards with a soft laugh.

“That’s—“ Yuuri hesitates, swallowing down the sudden lump in his throat. Should he tell her? He doesn’t want her to think that he writes like that normally. “My dog died. When I wrote it. I—I wanted it to be an ode to my dog. A goodbye of sorts.” He tells her haltingly, gaze averted to his lap, eyes swimming with unshed tears. 

“Oh. I see. I—I didn’t think. You must think me insensitive. You probably don’t want something so personal published—“

Except, he does. Wants it in a way that he can’t quite explain. Wants to share to the world how he had loved Vicchan and how much happiness she’d brought him and how much he’ll miss her now that she’s gone. Wants the world to know the story he’d written under the haze of grief and overwhelming love. “No. I mean, yes. It’s okay. You can submit it if you want, Makoto-sensei.”

Makoto-sensei blinks, her eyebrows scrunched up in concern. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah.” Yuuri breathes out, and it feels like a release. “It’s probably not even good enough to get selected.”

There’s a short beat of silence before Yuuri feels two warm hands on his shoulders, prompting him to look up from where he’s staring at his hands and into his teacher’s face. “Trust in yourself, Katsuki-kun. You have real talent at telling stories.” 

And as it turns out, he _does_.

Because Yuuri’s twenty-three-page homage to Vicchan not only gets published, but it wins him an award that he has to wear a suit for to receive. He goes to Tokyo with his mom, Minako, and Makoto-sensei to receive the award; his hands clammy as he stands in front of a crowd, a mustached man handing him a silver pocket watch and a check.

It’s only later, when he’s back in Hasetsu and eating his mom’s katsudon, that he thinks maybe, just maybe—

 

—he can still tell stories even off the ice.

.

 

**saudade**

current mood: page 127 of on ice violin

[image]

source: saudade #SAME #On Ice Series #I CAnt BELIEVE THEY KISSED #IS THIS REAL LIFE #NIKOUSHI 5EVER

 

**nik0lai-vasil0ve**

ok who sold their soul to satan for on ice violin

              **koushiiiiiii**

              p sure someone sold cocoa’s soul to satan

                             **COCOA-IS-ALIVE-2K16**

                             HOW DARE

                                           **lesfleurs**

                                           No, okay. But guys, what if it’s a parallel to what happened to Nikkun? I love Cocoa as much as the next person, but he  
                                           might actually die in the next book.

                                                           **binchpls**

                                                           i agree with you with the parallels. Katsuki-sensei loves parallels in his work. BUT??? I rly don’t think cocoa’s  
                                                           gonna die bc as much as sensei loves parallels, he’s also a fan of breaking them. and besides, what would  
                                                           cocoa’s death even achieve other than create much unnecessary angst???

source: nik0lai-vasil0ve #On Ice Series #I LOVE THIS BOOK #IM STILL CRYING #COCOA IS ALIVE #SAVE THE DOGGO #DONT KILL THE DOGGO 

 

**pheecheet-chulanope**

iM LAUGHING

[image]

phichit just threatened to unfriend katsuki-sensei if he kills cocoa

              **naruhina5ever**

              those two are #friendshipgoals

                             **pheecheet-chulanope**

                             LMAO KATSUKI-SENSEI JUST REPLIED

                             [image]

                             FCUKEN SAVAGE

source: pheecheet-chulanope #SAVAGE #SAVECOCOA #Phichit Chulanont #Yuuri Katsuki #these two are so precious

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry that you have to die in an AU too, Vicchan.
> 
> I'm terrible with names so you get the terribleness that is Koushi Yahaba and Nikolai Vasiliev. I just. IDK guys.
> 
> The Akutagawa and Naoki Prizes are Japanese literary prizes that are awarded to the best work of a new author published in a magazine/newspaper. The winner gets a pocket watch and a million yen (according to Wikipedia).
> 
> All the tumblr usernames are made up and have no connections with actual, real-life people.


	2. #WheresYuuri

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Christophe Giacometti** @christophe_gc  
>  @v_nikiforov you have like no chill at all

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh man, apologies for the lateness! I got caught up in several other projects and schoolwork (don't go into medicine, kids. it's hell), but here it is! 
> 
> This is mostly just an intro chapter for Viktor before we go to the juicy stuff. Also did some super minor editing in the first chapter (i.e. I added an approximation of a check mark - the square root symbol, go figure - on Yuuri and Phichit's twitter handles) which should help answer some questions hehe. 
> 
> As always, hit me up for any glaring errors and I'll correct it.

 

 

97 likes

**christophe-gc** Called to the principal’s office with @v-nikiforov #PrayForUs #WeDidNothingWrong

**mickey-crispino** I remember differently #YouDidSomethingWrong

**phichit+chu** lol what did @christophe-gc do?

**mickey-crispino** @phichit+chu, what didn’t he do?

 

189 likes

**phichit+chu** coffee date with the BFF! #NoFaceKatsuki #WheresYuuri #CoffeeFix #YuuriKatsuki

**christophe-gc** Will we ever see @katsuki-yuuri’s beautiful face? Inquiring minds want to know.

**phichit+chu** @katsuki-yuuri’s beauty cannot be captured by mere photographs.

**andaLUCIA** @phichit+chu, please post a picture of sensei’s face,, my family is starving

 

.

 

Christophe may have jokingly called their meeting with Celestino a trip to the principal’s office, but it definitely feels like one to Viktor who’s only ever been called to the man’s office when he’d joined Detroit Publishing three years ago and was immediately assigned to edit some tween star’s terrible autobiography. After that, his assignments or commendations come by e-mail and handwritten notes given to him by an ever-changing array of skittish interns.

He knows that he hasn’t done anything wrong and his work has been consistently good and thus far, the only bad mark on his record was _J.J. Style: The Life and Times of Jean-Jacques Leroy,_ because not even Viktor could salvage that train wreck. Why anyone let a fourteen-year-old tween star write an autobiography, Viktor still doesn’t know.

While he’s fairly sure that he’s not in any sort of trouble, he still can’t help the ball of anxiety forming in his stomach.

Swiping a finger across the screen of his phone, Viktor takes a quick glance at his notifications to see that **phichit+chu** and **chritophe-gc** had new posts.

A photo of him and Chris taken earlier greets him when he opens Instagram, and Viktor snorts at the caption as well as the comments underneath. He absentmindedly taps twice, because Chris would never let him hear the end of it if he didn’t like the other man’s posts. Phichit Chulanont’s post is still loading when he scrolls down and as soon as he reads #WheresYuuri on the caption, Viktor finds himself holding his breath as the image slowly appears.

Only to let it out in a disappointed huff when the only part of the elusive author’s face visible is a dark eyebrow. The rest of Yuuri Katsuki’s face is covered by the familiar dust jacket of _On Ice: Violin_ as the man hides behind it.

#NoFaceKatsuki indeed.

A shadow looms over him and Viktor looks up to see Chris staring at his screen with thinly-veiled amusement. “If you really want pictures of Yuuri, you should go follow his sister’s account.”

“I already have, she hasn’t accepted my request yet.” Which isn’t what Viktor means to say, because the last thing he needs is for Chris to have more ammunition about his little fascination (read: obsession) about the Japanese author. He braces himself for the friendly ribbing, as well as the reminder that Chris knows what Viktor’s favorite author looks like and refuses to share (“The hashtag is #NoFaceKatsuki for a reason, Viktor”) because Chris is evil and terrible.

But it doesn’t come, instead, Chris merely straightens up from his crouch with a noncommittal hum before jabbing a thumb at Celestino’s open door.

“You’re up. Ciao Ciao says he has big news for you.”

He raises an eyebrow, pocketing his phone. “Big news?”

Chris grins, adjusting the bulky manuscript under his arm. “Maybe that Leroy kid wrote a new autobiography.”

“You think you’re so funny,” Viktor begins, gracefully flipping Chris the bird, earning himself a bark of laughter. “But you’re not.”

He leaves a laughing Chris to his own devices and saunters to the entryway, peeking inside. Celestino’s on his desk, typing furiously on his laptop and Viktor briefly considers the idea of coming back later when the older man wasn’t determined to destroy his keyboard, but then the Italian looks up and quirks an eyebrow at him.

“You don’t have to look so nervous, Viktor.” Celestino calls out with a bemused smile, tapping a few more keys before beckoning him to come in. “Please, have a seat.”

The door closes behind him with a small click and Viktor makes his way towards the cluttered desk. “It’s the first time you’ve called me to your office since I started working here, forgive me if I’m a bit nervous.” If he sounds the slightest bit scathing, Celestino makes no indication that he minds and merely laughs when Viktor sprawls belligerently on one of the overstuffed armchairs in front of the desk.

“Everything’s fine,” Celestino says, shuffling a few papers around and stuffing them in a blue folder. “I just wanted to talk to you about a new assignment.”

Viktor prays to whatever deity out there that it’s not another autobiography by some tween star he’s never heard of. Because if it is, he will cry and submit his resignation right and there and spend the rest of his life reading NiKoushi fanfiction.

“Oh?”

Celestino nods.

“I’m thinking of giving you one my authors,” he says and Viktor raises an eyebrow, mildly intrigued. It’s a known fact in their division that Celestino Cialdini, co-founder of Detroit Publishing, can be unfailingly stubborn when it comes to his authors and will stick with them until the end of the line. So it’s honestly surprising that the man is even considering giving one of his authors to Viktor. It can either mean that Celestino trusts Viktor’s skills enough to give him one of his so-called _children_ , or this author is so much of a _problem child_ that even the unflappable Celestino has given up. “He’s—well, the nicest way I can put it is that he’s in a bit of a slump right now with his writing. We both are. And I think he needs a different perspective.”

Ah, problem child it is.

Viktor shifts in his seat, fingers tapping a staccato beat on the arm rest. “And you think I’m the man for the job?”

“Well, you did wrangle Georgi into writing three best-sellers.” Only because Viktor had coaxed Georgi into focusing his heartbreak towards his writing, and eventually set the man up on a date with one of the baristas at the nearby café. “I have every confidence that you can do it.”

Viktor hopes that whoever this author is, their problem is as easily remedied as Georgi’s.

“Alright,” Viktor exhales. “I’ll bite. Who’s the poor man you’re foisting onto me?”

Celestino holds up the blue folder he’d been arranging earlier and Viktor reaches over to take it, slightly surprised at its heft when it’s finally in his hands.

“Are you familiar with the _On Ice_ series?”

Viktor’s brain screeches to a halt, his heart stops, and his mouth drops open.

It’s a miracle he doesn’t drop the folder too.

“You’re giving me _Yuuri Katsuki_?”

“Oh, you know him?”

“I’m—“ _in love with the way he writes_ , Viktor doesn’t say, practically vibrating in his seat. Yuuri Katsuki breaks him open and builds him anew with mere words, and he _cannot fucking believe this is his life_. Oh, he feels faint. “I’ve read some of his books,” he says weakly, swallowing down the urge to laugh hysterically because he owns every book Yuuri Katsuki has ever written, even has a printed out fan translation of the short story that had won the man an award back in Japan when he was just seventeen.

Viktor Nikiforov doesn’t just _know_ Yuuri Katsuki.

Viktor Nikiforov is Yuuri Katsuki’s _fan_.

But Celestino doesn’t need to know that.

“What do you think?” Celestino asks, and Viktor has to bite his tongue.

“He’s good,” Viktor says, voice even and regulated, every bit the professional he tries to be, even as his pulse hammers and his fingers itch to peruse the folder cradled in his hands. “A bit inconsistent at times. But otherwise, he’s very talented.”

“Inconsistent but talented, huh?” Celestino hides a smile behind his hand, before murmuring, almost to himself, “that’s a pretty accurate assessment of Yuuri.” He turns back to Viktor, nodding towards the folder. “Think you can take him on?”

Subtly pinching himself on the arm—just to be sure, because he’s had dreams like this—Viktor plasters on a winning smile.

“Definitely.” 

 

.

 

**Viktor Nikiforov** @v_nikiforov

[praying hands emoji] [praying hands emoji] [praying hands emoji] iw ould like to thank not only god but also jesus #blessed

46 retweets       78 likes

              **Christophe Giacometti** @christophe_gc

              @v_nikiforov you have like no chill at all  

 

**Christophe Giacometti** @christophe_gc

I’ve read better sex from fanfiction, smh. When will #Eros write again?

79 retweets       134 likes

              **Phichit Chulanont** @phichit_chu √

              @christophe_gc soon if i have anything to say about it

                             **Christophe Giacometti** @christophe_gc

                             @phichit_chu PLEASE. If I have to read the words “swollen meat truncheon” one more time I will die

                                           **Phichit Chulanont** @phichit_chu √

@christophe_gc omg i’m having terrible flashbacks from reading 50SoG

***

 

 

> Sports News >> Figure Skating News 
> 
> **Viktor Nikiforov: Retiring?  
>  ** _Sports – 28 December 2009_
> 
> PETERSBURG — Russian figure skater Viktor Nikiforov 19, who recently won gold at this year’s Grand Prix Final and Russian Nationals, is rumored to be retiring at the end of this season. The rumors started when Nikiforov, the current favorite for gold, was suddenly pulled out from the Russian Team heading to the European Championships. It has been speculated that Nikiforov sustained an injury during his FS at the Russian Nationals. Nikiforov and his coach, Yakov Feltsman, have yet to release a statement addressing these rumors and have declined to give an interview. _Read More._

.

Viktor is twenty when he realizes that he has no back-up plan to speak of.

Or at least, nothing that doesn’t leave a bitter taste in his mouth.

“An editor, Vitya?” Yakov asks, looking as defeated as Viktor feels, if not more. Because Viktor is inarguably Yakov’s best skater and Russia’s rising star. He was going to be better and bigger and brighter than all of them.

And now he’s fizzled out before he can even start.

“I do have the workings of a degree for it,” he laughs mirthlessly, voice echoing hollowly inside his empty apartment. “And I’ve always loved reading.”

“Not as much as skating.”

Viktor shrugs, letting his fringe cover his eyes. It’s times like these that he misses his long hair; he could’ve hidden his grimace better then and he wouldn’t have to see Yakov’s look of pity. “Yes, well,” he murmurs when he finds his voice again, fingers tightening over their grip on his ruined knee. “No chance of that now, is there?”

“There are other doctors—“

“And they’re going to say the same thing, Yakov! No matter how many doctors we go to, they’re going to say the same thing!” And Viktor is so, so tired of hearing some faceless and well-meaning physician tell him that he won’t be able to skate professionally ever again, when he already knows it in his very bones.

“Vitya,” Yakov starts and the next thing he knows, the tears he’d tried to stave off start to fall until he’s sobbing onto his coach’s shoulder. And it’s like he’s fifteen again, newly homeless and sporting an ugly bruise on his cheek, sitting gingerly on Yakov’s couch while Lilia wordlessly makes him tea, softer than Viktor has ever seen her.

Shoulders quaking, Viktor sucks in a shaky breath.

“I’m sorry, Yakov.”

Yakov just scoffs, roughly patting him on the back as he continues to sob. “What are you apologizing for, foolish boy?” The older man asks and Viktor slowly pulls away, face blotchy and pink, mouth ready to enumerate every single thing he should be apologizing for, but Yakov takes one look at him and for the first time ever, Viktor actually shuts up. “Listen to me, Vitya. It was an accident and it was not your fault.” Yakov says, hands tight on his shoulders and Viktor can do nothing but cry, because it _is_.

Because if Viktor had been better, he wouldn’t be in his apartment sobbing his heart out, while his coach figures out what to do with an injured skater.

.

 

 

> **phichit+chu:** psssst chris  
>  **phichit+chu:** you’re on top of office gossip right??  
>  **phichit+chu:** i have a v important question  
>  **phichit+chu:** who is yuuri’s new editor do you know
> 
> **christophe-gc:** Viktor Nikiforov
> 
> **phichit+chu:** viktor nikiforov like viktor nikiforov
> 
> **christophe-gc:** How many Viktor Nikiforovs do you know?
> 
> **phichit+chu:** [image]  
>  **phichit+chu:** tHIS VIKTOR NIKIFOROV?????
> 
> **christophe-gc:** Oh my god, is that Yuuri?  
>  **christophe-gc:** That’s adorable!
> 
> **phichit+chu:** yes or no chris bc ciao ciao either didn’t tell yuuri or yuuri blanked out when ciao ciao told him and now he’s panicking bc he can’t remember who it is
> 
> **christophe-gc:** Yes.  
>  **christophe-gc:** Tell Yuuri I said good luck ;)

***

From: ccialdini@gmail.com  
To: v_nikiforov@gmail.com  
Date: Fri, April 8, 2016 at 15:32  
Subject: Y KATSUKI FILES

Viktor,

I’ve attached Yuuri’s file on here, as well as the link for the cloud drive where he uploads material for his books. You and Yuuri will be the only ones who’ll have access to it. Additionally, I’ve included his address, as well as other pertinent information such as his e-mail and phone number, should you feel the need to check on him. I know you don’t like too much personal contact with your authors especially after what happened, but it wouldn’t hurt to introduce yourself in person. It would be good for the both of you if you establish some rapport since Yuuri can be a bit skittish.

He already knows about the change in editors, but I suggest that you send a text first if you decide to drop by.

 

Regards,

Celestino Cialdini

 

.

 

Viktor isn’t really sure what he expected when he’d opened Yuuri’s profile on his phone, but it certainly wasn’t this.

Because Yuuri Katsuki apparently lives in the same apartment building and is _literally a floor away from his unit_.

“ _Oh yeah_ ,” Chris hums, “ _that building near the intersection, right? I think he moved there a few years back_.”

“You knew?!”

“ _Well, yes_.” Chris says and Viktor doesn’t have to see him to know that his friend is rolling his eyes. “ _What exactly would you do if I told you? Just march in there and ask for his autograph? He’s never had a public appearance for a reason, you realize_.”

Viktor sighs. “Yes, I know. I’m sorry, I’m just—“

He lets out the breath he’s been holding as he ducks inside the apartment building, nodding at the familiar guard by the entrance. There’s a queue for the elevators and Viktor stands in line behind a little boy with hair the color of straw, absently wondering as to why anyone would let a child wander around on his own.

“ _Nervous?_ ”

“Terrified.” He admits, watching as the queue moves along, cutting off right before he can get on. Wide, green eyes meet his and Viktor attempts a friendly smile at the little boy who scowls back in response.

How _charming_.

“ _You’ll do fine. Just don’t freak out so much. I know Yuuri and he’s one of the sweetest person you will ever meet._ ” Chris pauses, before adding, almost as an afterthought, “ _and besides, I have it on good authority that he’ll like you._ ”

“What?” Viktor asks, demands, because _what?_ Where is Christophe getting this? Who’s this good authority he’s talking about? Will Yuuri Katsuki really like him? “Chris? What do you mean—“

There’s a crash on the other end, before Chris’ laughter filters through the speakers. “ _Oh! Oops, sorry—I remembered I had something to do. Talk to you later, Vicky!_ ”

“What?! Hey! Chris!”

Grumbling sourly under his breath, Viktor finally steps inside the elevator when it dings open. He jabs at the button for the 23rd floor with a bit more force than necessary before pocketing his phone with a small huff. He is, as he’d told Chris earlier, terrified. And excited. But mostly terrified because he’s about twelve floors away from meeting Yuuri Katsuki and Viktor still has no idea what to do or say.

_Hi, I’m in love with your writing and I’m gonna be editing your next book. Will Nikolai and Koushi end up together?_

Yeah, right.

_Hi, I love your books. Please marry me?_

_Ha_. No.

Muzak continues to play and the elevator comes to a halt, chrome doors sliding open with a cheery ding. Viktor peers out into the empty hallway; it looks the same as the hallway to his apartment, albeit with a different color scheme. The twenty-third floor of the building is swathed in cool blue with silver accents, a far cry from the light fuchsia and gold theme going on in Viktor’s floor.

He can always come by later, Viktor figures, black oxfords soundlessly sauntering to the unassuming and plain door of apartment 23D. But, he reasons with himself as he wills his right hand to form a loose fist, he’s already here and he’d already sent a text to the man earlier that he’d be dropping by to get acquainted. Granted, Yuuri hasn’t replied yet but Viktor is actually and literally standing right in front of the Japanese author’s apartment door and all he needs to do is reach out and knock.

Viktor raps on the door twice, knuckles barely grazing the wood as he does so, and waits.

Vague, muffled noises come through the door and Viktor finds himself taking a step back, just in time for the door to swing open, revealing a bespectacled young man with the most beautiful brown eyes he’s ever seen.

_Oh no_ , Viktor thinks rather helplessly, _he’s cute_.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> viktor has -10% chill. more of his ~angsty~ backstory will be revealed throughout the story. so stay tuned for that i guess. 
> 
> yuuri is one of those authors who never makes public appearances and he has like super vague pictures posted in all of his social media accounts. it drives his fans nuts and phichit adds fuel to the flame by starting the whole #NoFaceKatsuki #WheresYuuri thing and has an entire album of yuuri with his face covered by a strategically-placed objects. they're both little shits.
> 
> ((i spy with my little eye several things that will become v relevant in the future))


	3. BLOCKED

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 勝生 勇利 @katsuki_yuuri √  
> ┬┴┬┴┤(･_├┬┴┬┴

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> am i 100% happy with this chapter: fuck no  
> but is it done: HELL YES
> 
> God, this chapter kicked my ass along with school and I'm just so done. I apologize if it drags on, as well as for the all-around terribleness and lateness. I just really wanted to get this posted before I write my ward report.
> 
> hit me up for any glaring mistakes

vicchan_fan (vicchan_fan) wrote in skating_rpf,

2006-11-28        19:00:00

 

_[fanfic] Dancing on the Blades 4/4_

Title: Dancing on the Blades  
Rating/Warning: M  
Pairing: Viktor Nikiforov/OC  
Summary: While in Japan for World’s, Viktor Nikiforov runs into a stranger who will change his life forever.

Read More

 

POST A NEW COMMENT                                                                    56 comments

.

“Um.”

Yuuri is staring.

He knows he is but he can’t stop.

He’s dumbstruck and most-likely gaping stupidly, because right there on his doorstep is the most beautiful man he has ever seen, dressed in a smart suit and looking as if he just walked off a runway from Paris or Milan. Meanwhile, Yuuri is wearing an oversized shirt that says #THIRSTY in bold letters (a birthday gift from Phichit) and pajamas with little poodles on them (a personal purchase). Clearly, life is a bitch and thoroughly unfair, and if there is a god, Yuuri would be struck down by lightning and erased from the face of the planet right now because _Viktor-fucking-Nikiforov_ is standing in front of him and Yuuri is still in his pajamas and hasn’t even combed his hair.

“Can I help you?” Yuuri asks, voice cracking on the last word.

Viktor—or at least someone who looks eerily like Viktor Nikiforov, but Yuuri _knows_ that face, has woken up to _that face_ since the age of twelve and he’s pretty fucking sure that Viktor Nikiforov is actually outside his apartment—tilts his head to the side, blue eyes gazing at Yuuri with something like wonder.

“Is this…Yuuri Katsuki’s apartment?” He asks, hopeful and Yuuri melts into a puddle at the perfect pronunciation of his name.

“Uh.” Yuuri blinks, once, twice, and then thrice for good measure. “Yeah? That’s me? I mean,” he amends when a pale eyebrow rises, as if to say _are you sure?_ and Yuuri flushes up to his ears. “I’m Yuuri Katsuki.”

At his words, Viktor Nikiforov smiles, breath-taking and world-changing, and _oh dear lord_ , that whole _I saw a man so beautiful I started crying_ meme going around tumblr must have been made with Viktor Nikiforov in mind because Yuuri feels as if he just saw god for the very first time. If not for his white-knuckled grip on the doorknob, Yuuri is sure he would’ve gone to his knees.

In prayer.

Or maybe something else that involved Viktor’s pants and Yuuri’s mouth.

He really wouldn’t mind, honestly.

“Hi!” Viktor says with a little wave and Yuuri just about dies right then and there, because who allowed this man to be gorgeous and adorable at the same time? “I’m—“

“Viktor Nikiforov,” Yuuri blurts out before Viktor can say his own name, because he’s a walking disaster who should not be allowed to go out in public ever. Much less hold a decent conversation with the most beautiful man in existence. A blush swallows up his entire face when Viktor blinks bemusedly, as if surprised that Yuuri would know his name. Which is a ridiculous concept, because how can Yuuri not?

“What are you doing here?” He manages to ask after taking a deep and bolstering breath, genuinely curious as to what kind of circumstance would have Viktor Nikiforov standing in his doorstep.

Maybe he’s lost and asking for directions.

Maybe he’s here to ask for Yuuri’s hand in marriage.

Maybe he’s here to press charges because he found out that Yuuri is _vicchan_fan_ in LiveJournal and FanFiction.net and wrote NC-17 RPF about him once upon a time.

Or maybe Yuuri is still asleep and this is just some convoluted dream his subconscious has made up and any second now, he’s going to wake up in his bed with only his laptop for company.

But when Yuuri pinches himself, he’s still awkwardly hiding behind his door and Viktor Nikiforov is still staring at him like he’s some complicated puzzle the man wants to figure out and not a sleep-deprived mess of a human being trying to hash out a scene transition that’s haunted him for months.

“I—“ Viktor starts, visibly hesitating on his next words. His earlier smile falters into a conflicted expression that does not suit him at all, Yuuri thinks, because Viktor Nikiforov has the kind of face that was made to smile. “Celestino hasn’t told you?”

At the mention of his editor, Yuuri finds himself squinting behind his glasses. “Ciao Ciao? Why would—“ he trails off, wracking his brain as to why Viktor Nikiforov would even _know_ his editor in the very first place.

Honestly, unless Viktor Nikiforov has somehow switched to editing after the accident and his subsequent retirement from skating, then there’s really no plausible reason as to why he knows Yuuri’s editor and is standing at his doorstep, dressed to the nines, and offering Yuuri an outstretched hand as he says:

“Starting from today, I’m your new editor.”

Unless, of course, he _has_.

“What?”

.

**Phichit**

> PHCIHT
> 
> Heyyy
> 
> MYNEW EDITIR IS VIKOTR NILIFROV
> 
> hELP
> 
> [image]
> 
> HES SITING ON MYCOUCHN
> 
> [image]
> 
> HES DIRNKGNUIN FRM MY FAVORITE  
>  MUG PHICHIHT IM DYING
> 
> [image]
> 
> HES SOM UCH MORE HANDSOME N  
>  REAL LIEF
> 
> I’m kinda impressed you managed to take  
>  stealthy pictures of him
> 
> IM HIDIGN INSIDE MY ROMM  
>  I TOLD HIM INEED TO SHOWER  
>  he SUDNLY CAME OVER I WAS IN MY  
>   OPAJAMAS
> 
> Godspeed, Yuuri. Don’t tell him you wrote  
>  fanfiction about him when you were like 12
> 
> YOU PROMISED NEVER TO SPEAK OF THAT  
>  AGAIN
> 
> “I’ve never met anyone like you, Yuuri.”  
>  Viktor said, tucking a stray lock of hair behind  
>  the boy’s ear.
> 
> BLOCKED

***

 **勝生** **勇利** @katsuki_yuuri √

┬┴┬┴┤(･_├┬┴┬┴

            **Phichit Chulanont** @phichit_chu √

              @katsuki_yuuri I’m p sure it’s like this: ┬┴┬┴┤( ͡° ͜ʖ├┬┴┬┴

.

The next two minutes after their earlier exchange by the doorstep consist of bashful apologies: Viktor offering to leave because he’d shown up practically unannounced, _I’m so sorry for being so unprofessional_ , and Yuuri Katsuki assuring him that _no, no, really, it’s fine, I’m terrible at checking my phone, please don’t go._ The next seven has Yuuri disappearing to his room to shower and Viktor practically vibrating out of his skin on the couch as he tried fruitlessly to drink the tea he’d been given, all the while trying not to think about Yuuri Katsuki in the shower.

It proves to be a nigh impossible endeavor so Viktor forces himself to subtly look around the apartment’s living area. The unit’s layout is the same as his, except Yuuri’s apartment looks lived in; various shelves are filled with trinkets, frames and books, photographs and post-it notes litter the walls, a warm-looking quilt is thrown haphazardly on the overstuffed armchair, dirty dishes are piled on top of each other on the kitchen island.

It’s a bit of a mess, but Viktor instantly prefers it over his own immaculate one.

“Sorry for the wait,” Yuuri calls out, sauntering towards the living room with damp hair and a blush, wearing an oversized sweater in a bright shade of blue and what could only be black tights. He’s carrying a sleek laptop and a sheaf of papers that he sets down on the coffee table before climbing on the overstuffed armchair and facing Viktor with a hint of a smile on his lips.

Viktor lets out a shaky exhale, then proceeds to make a mental list about Yuuri Katsuki, because if he doesn’t, he might just spontaneously combust.

  1. Yuuri Katsuki is ridiculously cute and doesn’t seem to have aged a day from that grainy newspaper photo Viktor found years ago in some shady Japanese forum (that gave his laptop about twenty viruses);
  2. He smells like fresh apples;
  3. He makes frumpy sweaters look unreasonably good;
  4. He has very nice legs (and Viktor has a newfound appreciation for black stirrup tights, because _damn_ ); and—



“Like I’ve said earlier,” Viktor starts, once he’s managed to shed off Viktor Nikiforov: Yuuri Katsuki Fan and don the persona of Viktor Nikiforov: Successful Editor. “I’ll be taking over Celestino as your editor for _On Ice_ and any other books you’ll be releasing,” he continues, taking his tablet and a small notebook out of his bag and setting them on his lap. “I’m quite familiar with your work. I’ve read your books in the past and—“

Yuuri startles, an aborted noise making its way out his lips, effectively halting Viktor’s words.

“You’ve read my books?”

The absurdity of the question doesn’t really register as much as the manner in which Yuuri says it; incredulous with a thin fissure of something that sounds terribly like embarrassment or shame. As if he can’t quite believe why anyone, least of all Viktor, would bother reading his books. Coupled with the unruly clash of emotions on the author’s face, it paints a picture that settles heavily and painfully on Viktor’s chest, because _what happened_ for Yuuri Katsuki to not believe in the beauty and worth of his own words?

Viktor doesn’t know what to say; he can rattle off sales statistics and quote starred reviews as easily as breathing, can say shiny but empty words to pander to egos, but there’s something about Yuuri Katsuki’s tone that says that they’re the last thing he needs or wants to hear. The man isn’t fishing for compliments, he’s genuinely curious and that, aside from the fact that Viktor’s read Yuuri’s books religiously for years now, makes Viktor want to run his mouth to lavish praise. 

“I have,” Viktor says as sincerely as he possibly can, meeting Yuuri’s eyes over the coffee table and trying to convey how much he means his every word. “They’re very good.”

His words, however, don’t seem to have their intended effect. Yuuri looks even more sheepish and small, curling in on himself as if the compliments had been a blow instead. “You don’t have to say that.” Yuuri says quietly, peering up at Viktor through thick eyelashes. “They’re really not that good.”

  1. Yuuri Katsuki self-deprecates as he breathes.



And that’s just unacceptable.

So Viktor steels himself and proceeds to run his mouth. Professionalism be damned. “I hate to start off our relationship with a disagreement, but I have to insist that your books are good. Better than good.” And Viktor almost wants Yuuri to disagree with him, just so that he can continue to gush and spill the praises overflowing from the depths of his chest.

A string of garbled Japanese leaves Yuuri’s mouth and Viktor can just make out the word _Lohengrin_ and has to nod.

“It’s not your best work, I agree. Compared to the rest of your other books, it’s not as well-written and you could’ve honestly done better.” He acquiesces and earns himself a resigned look.

While the earlier praise that had seemed to slide off Yuuri’s back, the brief criticism seems to get absorbed into his still-flushed skin effortlessly, as if taking its due of sharp words. It’s then, at that exact moment, that Viktor makes it his life’s duty to ply Yuuri Katsuki with enough compliments that he’ll never run out so that maybe he’ll finally learn to accept them as the truth.

“But before the _On Ice_ series came out, _Lohengrin_ was my favorite.”

The admission is met with stunned silence and he watches Yuuri blink repeatedly. Viktor can almost see the gears turning inside his head, playing _Lohengrin was my favorite_ on repeat.

“ _Why?_ ”

Viktor doesn’t say: _because before I read it, my heart was collapsing into a black hole inside my chest._

He also doesn’t say: _because it made me feel for the first time in a very long time_.

And he definitely does not say: _because it made me feel alive_.

 _Lohengrin_ is the third book that Yuuri Katsuki publishes. It comes out on a bleary November morning and tells the story of shy ballet dancer, Amie Michel. It’s a short book, and, compared to Yuuri’s first book—a collection of short stories entitled _きんつぎ_ _(Kintsugi)_ —his second one— _History Maker_ —not very well-received. Its publication is followed immediately by scathing reviews and articles tearing the book apart page by page, along with smatterings of whispered praise and accolades.

When Viktor finally reads it, after much prompting from Georgi who had cried for weeks about Amie’s struggle, he’s torn. On one hand, he understands why _Lohengrin_ wouldn’t be everyone’s cup of tea. At first glance, the story is depressing; Amie’s spiral into hopelessness and subsequent self-destruction is painful to read, and the ending is too bleak and open-ended to provide any closure that Viktor finds himself shedding tears when he turns the last page.

But on further examination, _Lohengrin_ is a story of hope, as much as it is of defeat and loss. And once he’s read it three times, agonized over hidden meanings late into the night, and has his heart broken by Amie and William—god, _William_ , Viktor can’t believe he disliked him at first—far too many times to count, Viktor is firmly on the _Lohengrin is a masterpiece, you uncultured heathens_ camp and no amount of derisive reviews on goodreads will convince him otherwise.

 _Lohengrin_ is his first Yuuri Katsuki book and it’s the one to cement Viktor’s status as a fan.

(He has three different editions of it: the first being a fraying paperback, while the second is a limited edition signed copy, and the last is the Japanese edition that he’d bought because there had been _art_.)

“Because it was real, it felt real. It was raw emotion translated into paper and ink,” is what Viktor finally says when he manages to unstick his tongue from the roof of his mouth.

Glancing up, Viktor catches Yuuri’s eyes before he has to look away and stare at the small avalanche of papers on the coffee table, unexpectedly too strung-up to hold the author’s suddenly piercing gaze.

“I started reading it thinking that I won’t be able to relate to Amie, and I came out of it carved open with your words and feeling as if I’ve also lost something I’ve never had in the first place.” _Like a successful skating career_ , Viktor thinks bitterly, because in the end, he’d seen too much of himself in Amie. “Every time I read it, I get the same gutted-out feeling and I think to myself that whoever it is who made you feel like that doesn’t know what he’s missing.”

“ _Oh_.”

He looks up just in time for an impossibly deeper flush to erupt on Yuuri’s cheeks. There’s a softness to his face and a brightness in his brown eyes that Viktor thinks might be tears, and most importantly, Yuuri Katsuki is looking at Viktor as if he hung the moon and the stars and _goddamn_ , he should’ve been paying attention to _that face_ instead of glaring the coffee table into submission.

A shaky exhale leaves the small, pink o of Yuuri’s mouth, and Viktor feels his heart seize painfully in his throat where it’s lodged.

“Who did you think of when you wrote it? An ex-lover, perhaps?”

As soon as he says the word _ex-lover_ , the _look_ is gone and Yuuri is shaking his head in a panic. “What?! No! Not—not an ex-lover.” He says, insists, voice high. “Just someone that I’ve admired for a very long time.”

“I see,” Viktor says, tasting jealousy on his tongue.

.

**Chris**

> HE’S SO CUTE CHRIS HELP
> 
> ALSO. WHY DOES HE NOT BELIEVE THAT HIS  
>  BOOKS ARE LITERALLY THE GREATEST THINGS  
>  IN EXISTENCE???
> 
> That’s just how Yuuri is, I’m afraid
> 
> I JUST EMBARRASSED MYSELF BY WAXING  
>  POETIC ABOUT LOHENGRIN AND HE STILL  
>  LOOKS UNCONVINCED
> 
> You need to find some chill, honestly
> 
> Shut uuuup
> 
> Apparently Lohengrin was about someone  
>  he admired when he was younger and  
>  not an ex-lover as previously thought
> 
> You really need to stop getting too deep in  
>  those reddit threads
> 
> Excuse you, the lover theory is from tumblr
> 
> Anyway. Talk later. He just came back  
>  from the bathroom

.

_Who did you think of when you wrote it?_

_You_ , Yuuri thinks hysterically as he stares unseeingly at his reflection, _I thought of you just like I’ve dreamt of you all those years ago_.

He remembers fumbling for an answer, a denial; teenage fantasies borne of humid, summer nights notwithstanding. He remembers the interested flutter of Viktor’s pale eyelashes, the pink flush high on sharp cheekbones. He remembers the charged silence after Viktor’s impassioned speech and remembers the loud drumbeat of his poor, overworked heart. 

What Yuuri does not remember is how the hell he ended up inviting Viktor Nikiforov—his childhood idol and current editor and the most beautiful man in the world—for lunch at Café Les Fleurs before they talk about his dumb ice skating book.

But here he is, having an existential crisis in the bathroom while an irate customer bangs at the door and yells at him to hurry up.

After a few more seconds of criticizing his own reflection, Yuuri takes a deep breath and resigns himself to an afternoon of making a fool of himself.

“Sorry,” Yuuri mumbles when he finally exits the bathroom and sees the annoyed woman waiting by the door. He does a shallow bow for good measure before shuffling back to what is unofficially his spot—a small alcove on the second floor hidden away by a bookshelf—to see Viktor tapping at his phone.

A fresh pot of coffee waits on their table, along with a pitcher of cold water and a basket of assorted baked goods that Yuuri sighs at. It had been futile to hope that Guang-hong would stop plying him with free baked goods, especially since Yuuri just had lunch, but this is apparently his life now.

(Yuuri gets rushed to the ER for a gastric ulcer once and now everyone thinks that he’ll die if he misses one meal. It’s ridiculous.)

He makes a mental note to leave a generous tip before they leave as he sits back down, sliding into the booth across Viktor.  

“Someone named Guang-hong says that if you don’t eat all of that,” Viktor quips, putting his phone away and quirking an eyebrow towards the basket. “He’ll tell your sister.”

There’s a question in the curve of Viktor’s mouth and Yuuri, because he’s a sucker for Russian men who are former ice skaters, lets Viktor Nikiforov know that he fails at being a functional human being. “I skip meals a lot when I’m writing and I developed a stomach ulcer that landed me at the hospital.”

“Should you be drinking coffee?” Viktor asks faintly, looking absolutely ready to have the coffee pot taken away.

“Oh, yeah. It’s—the ulcer’s healed now and I can drink coffee. In moderation.” Viktor still looks doubtful, so Yuuri quickly adds,” Guang-hong wouldn’t have brought it if I couldn’t.”

Especially since Guang-hong’s one of the people who cried the most, right next to Yura, when he got hospitalized.

“If you’re sure.”

Yuuri nods before waving a hand towards the sheaf of print-outs for _On Ice_ by Viktor’s hands. “Should we start?”

“We should,” Viktor says, pulling up the print-outs. But instead of reading them, like Yuuri expects him to, he hands them over with a crinkle of his eyes. “Walk me through it?”

“Yeah, okay” Yuuri breathes out, feeling suddenly foolish, because of course, Viktor would work differently. He’s gotten too used to the routine he’s established with Celestino (i.e. print the new chapter and fret in his seat while Ciao Ciao reads over it) and Chris (i.e. upload the new chapter on their shared cloud drive and hide in his bathtub, questioning his life choices), that he almost forgets that not everyone works like that.

Or at least, Viktor Nikiforov doesn’t.

He’s not entirely sure if he prefers Viktor’s approach more; he’s better at writing than talking after all. But he can already feel the words clamoring for freedom at his throat, spurred on by the attentive glint of bright, blue eyes that the posters never did any justice. So Yuuri starts to talk, at first unsure and stumbling over his words, much like Koushi does in his Free Skate without Nikolai waiting for him rinkside to offer a warm embrace.

He gains a sort of cadence when he talks about Alexei’s attempt to comfort Koushi in his own grumpy way, and ends up going on a complete tangent about how _Lyosha isn’t really as tough as he pretends to be and I’m not saying he’s a complete angel or anything, but he’s a teenager and kind of an asshole but that’s okay._

“—Koushi goes back to Japan and then there’s this whole reunion scene with Kolya that I just can’t seem to write.”

When he finally shakes himself out of his reverie, Viktor is staring at him thoughtfully. A small notebook is opened in front of him and Yuuri belatedly realizes that Viktor’s been putting his disjointed ramblings to paper, as evidenced by the tip of his pen still poised on the n of _K goes back to Japan_.

Yuuri’s not sure what he expected Viktor’s handwriting to look like. He’s seen autographed posters over the internet once upon a time, but signatures are different from normal handwriting, and compared to the meandering curves of Viktor’s signature, his handwriting is a clean, contained thing, fitting neatly inside the lines as if the letters are afraid to go beyond them.

“A reunion scene?” Viktor asks as he deftly draws another bullet point, writing _K + N reunion_ in smooth strokes, and okay, Yuuri needs to stop staring and memorizing the interplay of muscle and bone under pale skin.

He clears his throat and pours himself a cup of coffee and top off Viktor’s empty cup in an attempt to distract himself from Viktor’s hands, _god Yuuri, get a grip_. “Well, Kolya picks Koushi up at the airport and—“ Yuuri cuts himself off, blinking up at the sudden, strangled noise that Viktor makes. “Viktor? Are you okay?”  

Viktor shakes his head vehemently, leaning over with an urgent expression on his face and Yuuri can do nothing but lean over as well. He abandons his half-full cup and has to curl his hands into fists to refrain from smoothing the crease between Viktor’s eyebrows with his thumb. 

“I have an important question.” Viktor whispers, tone urgent.

“What is it?”

Yuuri’s brain is already churning out questions that Viktor could ask, ranging from the mundane to the fantastical. But Viktor asks none of the things already cluttering Yuuri’s head, instead he asks:

“Is Cocoa alive?”

The laugh starts as an incredulous snort that Yuuri couldn’t have stopped even if he wanted to. It quickly snowballs into a giggle as he’s suddenly reminded of Phichit’s emails and the #SaveCocoa that, according to Phichit, trended worldwide. He’s seen countless tweets about it, but it’s surreal to hear it in real life. And from Viktor Nikiforov, no less.

“She’s alive,” Yuuri says once he’s controlled the worst of the giggles and is rewarded with the sight of Viktor grinning widely, dimples on his cheeks.

“Oh, thank god.”

Still shaking with residual laughter, Yuuri forges on. “So, uh, Cocoa’s there too, she’s actually the one that Koushi sees first and then he sees Kolya who looks like he hasn’t slept a wink. They embrace and then, we get to the part I’m having trouble with.”

“Why are you having trouble with it?”

How does Yuuri explain that his characters have developed wills of their own and that he’s lost complete control over them?

“The thing is, Nikolai and Koushi, they weren’t even going to be together like this. But then it started going in that direction so I just kinda went with it, hence the kiss at the Cup of China.” The kiss had been a surprise for him too, because he really hadn’t been writing with a possible romance in mind. “And now that I’ve gone down that road, I have this outline for a completely different story and characters I don’t know what to do with.”

Understanding dawns on Viktor’s face and Yuuri watches as he touches his bottom lip, seemingly deep in thought. “What’s Nikolai thinking about here?”

“Kolya?” Yuuri frowns, thinking about Nikolai and being forced to separate from Koushi for the first time in months of being attached to the hip. “Their time apart has given him a chance to think about what Koushi means to him, and I guess he’s thinking about what he can do better to help support Koushi, not only as a coach but something else.”

“What about Koushi?”

“The same thing, except in reverse. He doesn’t make the podium but he gets in the Final, and what he wants the most right now is to win gold with Kolya by his side.” Yuuri can envision the scene clearly: there would be an embrace, a quiet sort of desperation in the air. Koushi would be trying to hold back his tears as he sinks into Nikolai’s arms. “Koushi would ask Kolya to take care of him until he retires.”

_Please take care of me until I retire._

“That sounds a bit like a marriage proposal,” Viktor quips, the corners of his lips quirked into a lopsided smile.

It’s an innocent comment, Yuuri knows, but it makes something click into place. A missing puzzle piece. A possibility that Yuuri hadn’t considered because _On Ice_ isn’t supposed to be a romance. But now that it is, or at least, reads that way, Yuuri really has no choice but to go hard or go home.

“It does,” Yuuri agrees, nodding as he does so, too far inside his head that he doesn’t notice that his hands had found Viktor’s over the table. “And then after he says it, Kolya would take Koushi’s hand, and kiss his ring finger and they’ll embrace again, and he’ll say that he hopes that Koushi would never retire.”

A beat of silence passes and it’s only then that Yuuri notices that he’s holding Viktor’s hands in a mimicry of what he’d just narrated. Embarrassment bubbles at the pit of his stomach, threatening to spill over and drown him in shame. Before Yuuri can drop Viktor’s hands and apologize for his actions, Viktor is already shifting their hands so that Yuuri’s right hand is enclosed in his, pulling gently so that Yuuri can feel his warm breath on the back of his hand.

“In Russia, the engagement ring is worn on the right hand,” Viktor starts quietly and Yuuri’s heart stutters inside his chest when Viktor peers up at him through his lashes, lips close enough to touch skin when he says, ”so Kolya would actually kiss Koushi _here_.”

Viktor proceeds to do just that.

.

**Mari Katsuki**

 

> Hey, hey, Mari!
> 
> Quick favor. Can you add a v-nikiforov  
>  on ig?
> 
> Do I want to know why?
> 
> Check out his profile go go go
> 
> No way
> 
> YES WAY
> 
> Oh my god. Does Yuuri know?
> 
> Yuuri legit cried when he deleted all of  
>  his accounts back then
> 
> He’s Yuuri’s new editor!!!
> 
> And apparently a big fan of Yuuri’s  
>  books!!!
> 
> Holyshit
> 
> Is he freaking out yet??
> 
> [image]
> 
> [image]
> 
> [image]
> 
> Yuuri is wayyyyyyy past the freakout stage

***

_you are now following **mari.katsuki**_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> idk i figured that if i can't have viktor introduce himself with his dick out, i had to find something extra for him to do. kissing yuuri's hand the first time they meet seems like the way to go.
> 
> you guys can go yell at me on my tumblr: alykapediaaa HAHA


	4. #bestboy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **katsuki-yuuri** with the BEST boy  <3 <3 <3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm not gonna bore anyone w excuses but ohmygod i'm so sorry guys i can't believe it's been that long since i updated??? what the shit?? 
> 
> anyway. writing viktor's pov is like pulling teeth and i died a few times writing this. had to move a few things to the next chapter because they really...did not fit with the mood of the first two parts.

Yuuri meets Makka on a Saturday afternoon and it is simultaneously the best and worst thing that's ever happened to Viktor, and it's all Mila's fault.

It's been a little over a month since their first meeting at  _Café Les Fleurs_ and Viktor thinks that they've developed something of a working routine. Yuuri writes, Viktor reads and acquaints himself with Yuuri's writing tics, and they meet up twice a week for lunch wherein Viktor spends the majority of the time worrying about whether Yuuri's eating properly and not at risk of developing another ulcer. The rest he spends correcting minor mistakes such as Yuuri's tendency to change tenses halfway through a page and a worrying preponderance for run-on sentences, and because Viktor cannot seem to keep his mouth shut around the man, acting as a sounding board and occasionally, very, very occasionally, offering up suggestions.

Viktor isn't delusional enough to think that he's helping much with the creative process or anything of the sort. But even a washed-up failure of a figure skater can have brilliant ideas sometimes.

"Have you considered commissioning music for _On Ice_?" 

The question is met with wide eyes, quickly followed by a thoughtful frown and a silence that prickles uncomfortably at the back of Viktor’s neck. They’re almost at the end of another successful meeting, having finalized some minor details for the conclusion of the Rostelecom Cup—some important character development for grumpy, little Alexei and a scene that makes Viktor think that all those Lyoshi shippers may be onto something, at least when it comes to Alexei’s feelings for Koushi—when the idea pops up in his head and out of his mouth.

“Sorta?” Yuuri offers after a few moments of making increasingly complicated faces over his empty glass of lemonade. “I mean, there’s the lyrics for _Stammi Vicino_ and _Agape_. Sara Crispino introduced me to a lyricist for help with those two and there was even an attempt to lay down music for it, but it never really panned out because of time constraints.” Here, Yuuri winces sheepishly, eyebrows knotting in consternation. “And well, it’s kinda ambitious to have a soundtrack for a book series? I’m not even sure how it would actually work.”

Viktor has absolutely no idea how it would work either, but he’s more than willing to find out how.

“Well, it _is_ rather unusual to have a soundtrack for a book,” he acquiesces as they make their way downstairs and towards the exit. “But not knowing what the music sounds like takes away a lot from the performances.”

“Oh.”

“Don’t get me wrong,” Viktor hastens to add when Yuuri lapses into a pensive silence, “your writing is musical, but there were times when I wished I knew what the music really sounded like.”

Especially for _Stammi Vicino_.

The very first time Viktor had seen the lyrics and read Yuuri’s flowing description for Nikolai’s free skate program, he’d felt a bone-deep desire to get on the ice and _skate_. It had been both frightening and exciting, and he had to take a break from reading to bury his face in Makka’s fur and calm himself down.

Because at that moment, Viktor had thought, _I want to skate to this_ , heart beating hummingbird fast inside his chest, adrenaline coursing through his veins, and muscles bracing for a jump that his knees would hate him for and would probably earn him two weeks of physical therapy.

He’d thought, _I want to be on the ice again,_ after years and years of scorning it and hating what it did to him, what it took from him.

He’d thought, with a startling clarity that’s reminiscent of the thrill of newly-sharpened blades on fresh ice, _I want to skate again_ , and felt lighter than air.

 _Lohengrin_ gave him hope, but the _On Ice_ series gave him back the ice. 

The bell by the front door tinkles to signal their departure. It's a sound that's becoming more and more familiar as time passes by and it's a sound that Viktor finds himself associating with the way Yuuri waves goodbye to Guang-hong before they go out of the cafe and into the bustling streets.

(A short list of things that's becoming more and more familiar as time passes by:

  * The sound of the bell by the café door
  * The way Yuuri’s nose scrunches up when he laughs
  * Café Les Fleur's ridiculously good house blend
  * ~~The way Viktor’s heart squeezes inside his chest when Yuuri smiles~~ )



The walk back to their building is made in silence. A few weeks ago, when he didn't know any better, Viktor would fret and fumble and think that he's somehow caused offense. But Viktor knows better now and knows that this is just Yuuri thinking. He's learned very quickly after his initial outburst regarding _Lohengrin_ , that it's not really about Yuuri doubting himself and his words, but more of Yuuri holding himself to an insanely high and borderline ridiculous standard and beating himself up for not measuring up to it. 

At the intersection, with the bright red of the stoplight bathing them in a warm glow, Yuuri turns to him curiously, hands clutching tightly at the straps of his bag. “Let’s say I do commission music for it,” he starts, mouth shaping the words carefully but with a conviction that tugs at the corners of Viktor’s lips, “do you think there’d be enough interest?”

Judging from the numerous fan-made playlists Viktor’s encountered ever since _On Ice: Piano_ was published, he’s more than certain there would be. Yuuri has a flourishing fan base that’s very passionate and very eager for new content, and Viktor would know because he’s a part of it, and he knows for a fact that an official soundtrack for _On Ice_ would be more than well-received.

He can already see the inevitable pandemonium that would break out on Twitter and Tumblr, and has to bite down on a grin when he remembers how The Kiss had broken the internet a few months back.

“I’m confident that there will be.” Viktor says, before adding, “I’ll have someone from sales run the necessary numbers for it.”

Seung-gil from sales will probably glare and grumble at him when he asks for those numbers, but it’s not as if Viktor told the Korean to pursue a career crunching numbers. And of course, now that Viktor thought about it, he’s going to have to not only visit the sales department, but also coordinate with promotions and talk to Celestino about the whole thing. He’s just gone and dumped so much work on himself but nothing worth having comes easy, and all that, so Viktor can’t really find it in himself to have any regrets.

“An acquaintance, well, a friend, I guess?” Yuuri says with a tilt of his head, teeth worrying his bottom lip. “He’s something of a musician and I guess I could ask him to help if he’s not busy.”

 _Oh, right_ , Viktor thinks, blinking once, twice, suddenly reminded as to why he got the idea in the very first place.

“If you want, I can contact my old composer.”

“Your—really?” With how Yuuri reacts to the offer—visibly startling before proceeding to stare at Viktor with beautiful, brown eyes—Viktor wishes he’d said it when they weren’t in the middle of crossing the street. As it is, he ends up having to pull Yuuri along with a hand on the small of his back. “You don’t have to do that,” Yuuri says, still staring up at Viktor as if he’d hung the moon and stars and if he isn’t careful, Viktor could get used to those looks very quickly.

“I want to,” Viktor says in an exhale, after he’s successfully saved the both of them from getting hit by an oncoming bus. “I did bring it up.”

“Only if you’re sure. I don’t want to impose. You’ve done so much already.”

And Viktor has to raise an eyebrow at that because he really, really hasn’t. Hasn’t done nearly enough for all that Yuuri’s given him back with his stories.

They make a turn at the next corner, Viktor’s hand unwilling to part with its place on Yuuri’s back as they make their way towards the entrance of their building.

Normally, this is where Viktor would say his goodbyes and head back to the office. But he’d been told by Celestino in no uncertain terms to: _take the rest of the day off, Viktor, you haven’t taken time-off ever since you started working here_. Which is horribly untrue because Viktor had a nasty bout of flu once upon a time and had to call in sick for work and sick days definitely count as days off. So he ends up awkwardly stalling and mentally arguing with himself about inviting Yuuri up to his apartment so they can talk more.

The invitation is already burning on his tongue when Yuuri turns to him with a determined look on his face, and says, “I’ve been meaning to ask, where do you live? If it’s far, we can do a compromise so you don’t have to, um, make the trip to the café or my apartment every time we have a meeting.”

“Oh,” Viktor lets out in an exhale after staring down at Yuuri for a few tense seconds because _oh_ , Yuuri doesn’t know that he lives in the same building, and _oh_ , this is going to be so awkward, and _oh_ , Yuuri is going to think that he’s some creepy stalker and he’s going to be half right and _oh my god_ —

Before he can tell Yuuri that _oh, that’s not necessary because Viktor does in fact live in the same building, and oh, isn’t that such a weird coincidence_ , several things happen at once:

  1. Something brown and fluffy knocks Yuuri down with a familiar bark;
  2. A woman shouts from inside their building;
  3. Yuuri lets out the most adorable laugh in the history of the world; and
  4. Viktor is rendered completely and utterly speechless at the sound.



It takes him an embarrassingly long time to realize that the big ball of fluff that knocked Yuuri down and is currently slobbering all over him is none other than his _dog,_ and in that span of time Yuuri had pushed up into a sitting position and is cooing enthusiastically at Makka as if being jumped by thirty kilograms of excitable poodle is something that happens to him on the daily.

“Makkachin!” He scolds rather uselessly just as Mila stumbles out of their building, Makka’s leash hanging from her hands. “Mila, what—“

“Vitya!” Mila makes a beeline towards them, presenting the leash to Viktor when she gets close enough. She doesn’t give him a chance to talk, forging on and handing Viktor the bag containing Makka’s things. “I was just about to call you. I have an urgent thing for school and I won’t be able to look after Makkachin for a while,” she blurts out before adding a sheepish “sorry,” at the end.

She then proceeds to give him the most ridiculous puppy eyes, which she got from him when he was still babysitting her a few years back so it really, really shouldn’t work on him in the very first place. Except it does and Viktor can feel his building annoyance crumble down into nothing. 

“Hi, Mila.” Yuuri pipes up once he gets back on his feet, and Viktor can only watch in bewilderment as Makka gives Yuuri’s hand a lick before settling down on his feet, tail wagging all the while.

Viktor blinks. His Makka’s a friendly dog, sure, but he’s not _that_ friendly.

Also. How on earth does Yuuri know Mila of all people?

“Hey Yuuri!” Mila gives a little wave, mirroring Viktor’s own look of bemusement at how quickly Makka warmed up to Yuuri. Her gaze flits between the two of them, a smile spreading on her lips as her voice takes on a teasing tone. “Huh, I didn’t think you guys knew each other.”

“Viktor’s my new editor,” Yuuri offers.

Mila’s smile ratchets up to a shit-eating grin, no doubt remembering all the times that Viktor had waxed poetic about Yuuri Katsuki and _oh god,_ Mila’s known Yuuri all this time and never told him. The little _shit_. “Vitya’s my neighbor.”

It’s Yuuri’s turn to look bemused; an adorable furrow forming between his eyebrows when he turns to look at Viktor. “We live in the same building?”

“Yes,” Viktor says, for lack of anything else to say. “It never really came up in conversation,” he adds lamely and he doesn’t have to look at Mila to know that she’s definitely smirking at them now because she is terrible and Viktor is definitely telling on her.

Yuuri’s face does a complicated thing, eyebrows furrowing even further. “Oh.”

“To be fair, I only found out when I came over to your apartment the first time.”

Because no one on his floor thought it prudent to tell Viktor that the author he’s been obsessing over for years now and whose books he’s been bringing up incessantly during tea with the babushkas, is living under the same roof. There’s no doubt in his mind that everyone except him knows about it and that they’d somehow kept it a secret for years.

Which, _huh_ , is all kinds of impressive, now that Viktor thinks about it.

Did Celestino and his team issue a nondisclosure agreement or something?

“Uh, Phichit just asked, actually.” Yuuri says and Viktor realizes belatedly that he’s said it out loud. “He’s the one who started the whole mystery author thing on Twitter and Instagram after all. And well, everyone was happy to help when we explained it. They probably didn’t even know who I was, to be honest.”

Viktor narrows his eyes at the self-deprecation while Mila snorts and wraps an arm around Yuuri’s shoulders.

“Yuuri, Yuuri, Yuuri,” Mila coos, “we definitely know who you are. You’re our building’s best kept secret.” She punctuates the statement with a flick of a hand at Viktor, “see, Vitya didn’t even know you lived here and he’s your biggest fan.”

A blush that rivals Mila’s hair color erupts on Yuuri’s cheeks. For a quick second he looks like he’s about to deny the fact that Viktor’s a fan, much less his biggest one, but he must see something on Viktor’s face that dissuades him.

“Anyway,” Mila says, crouching down to run her hands along Makka’s back. “I’ll ask around if someone else can watch Makkachin for you.”

Viktor just sighs, not looking forward to the particular task of interviewing a bunch of potential sitters for Makka.

“I can do it.” Yuuri says suddenly, blinking up at Viktor through long lashes. “I mean, I just stay at home for the most part so I can take care of Makkachin for you, if you want.”

And oh, does Viktor want, but Yuuri is his author and it would be terribly unprofessional to ask him to babysit his dog. “You don’t have to do that,” he says, heart breaking inside his chest. “I don’t want to impose—“

Yuuri snorts, raising an eyebrow and reminding Viktor that they’d had this exact same exchange earlier. “Let’s just say we’re even,” Yuuri says with a smile, “and besides, I love dogs.”

Mila’s presence is the only thing stopping Viktor from blurting out something terribly embarrassing, and he’s equal parts grateful and not, because Mila will be teasing him about this until the end of time. “I have to warn you, though,” Viktor says, glancing down at Makka who looks way too attached to Yuuri already. “Makkachin can be a bit of a handful.”

“I think I can handle that.”

.

From: v_nikiforov@gmail.com  
To: yakovfeltsman@gmail.com  
Date: Sat, May 19, 2016 at 09:08  
Subject: COMPOSER???

Hi, Yakov!

Sorry for the bother, but do you still have the contact details of that Italian composer? Can you please send it to me?

***

437 likes

 **katsuki-yuuri** with the BEST boy  <3 <3 <3

 **phichit+chu** it’s not loading for me but I’m gonna assume it’s me bc it IS me. I am the #bestboy

              **katsuki-yuuri** @phichit+chu you have never been more wrong in your life

              **phichit+chu** @katsuki-yuuri I ain’t even mad bc that is one cute doggo. Also lies.

 **schadenfred** @katsuki-yuuri!!! Sensei, is that your dog??? HE’S SO CUTE  <3

 **katsuki-yuuri** @schadenfred I wish! He’s my editor’s dog but I am very close to stealing him away!

_view more comments_

 

326 likes

 **v-nikiforov** betrayed by my own dog! I swear I’d wake up one morning to find that @katsuki-yuuri has stolen Makka and is on a private resort in the Bahamas #NoFaceKatsuki

 **phichit+chu** welcome aboard the #NoFaceKatsuki train @v-nikiforov!!!

_view more comments_

.

Days pass and Koushi—

Days pass and—

 _Days pass_ is such a terrible transition line. Because of course they pass. It's what days do. Days pass and things happen and Yuuri has been staring blankly at the blinking line thing in his word document— _what is the blinking line thing even called?_ —for a solid ten minutes now and _Days pass_ continues to mock him in black letters.

_Should he change font colors or something?_

“Are you hungry?”

But days do pass, and somehow, Yuuri is now living in a world where Viktor Nikiforov—who hasn’t really been _Viktor Nikiforov_ in Yuuri’s thoughts for a while now, but just _Viktor_ —is sitting in Yuuri’s cluttered apartment and asking Yuuri if he’s hungry for the second time in three hours, while his poodle is draped over Yuuri’s lap like the world’s wriggliest and furriest blanket.

It’s all so very surreal that it’s reached the point where it isn’t anymore.

Yuuri’s not entirely sure how he feels about it.

Twelve-year-old Yuuri would have been beside himself and spontaneously combusted, seventeen-year-old Yuuri would have cried ugly tears _and_ spontaneously combusted (even with the river of tears streaming down his face), and the Yuuri from a few months ago would have…well, Yuuri from a few months ago would have probably pulled a twelve-year-old Yuuri and spontaneously combusted.

Current Yuuri just peers mulishly at Viktor over his laptop screen and asks, tone completely devoid of sarcasm: “Are _you_ hungry?”

“Yuuri,” Viktor whines, and Yuuri has a faint inkling that if it weren’t for the printouts of _On Ice: Duet_ arranged painstakingly all over Viktor’s side of the coffee table, then he would be face down on it, blinking his ridiculously beautiful eyes up at Yuuri while pouting.

For most of his life, Viktor Nikiforov was an ideal. He was an idol, a dream, an untouchable god that existed on the ice and the posters that still grace Yuuri’s childhood bedroom (and in that one framed photo Mari sneaked into his suitcase that he still keeps on his bedside table because it _is_ a good picture and he’s been waking up to Viktor’s face for how many years now and he isn’t about to stop now). He was a fount of inspiration, on the ice and off of it. Yuuri’s writing career has Viktor Nikiforov to thank after all.

Or at least, Yuuri’s idea of Viktor Nikiforov.

Because the real-life Viktor is everything and nothing like Yuuri expected.

He’s gorgeous, no doubt about it. The most beautiful human being to ever walk the planet. But he snorts when he laughs and likes pineapples on pizza. He moves with a skater’s grace but is one of the messiest eaters Yuuri knows and Yuuri’s honestly lost count of all the times he’s had to sit on his hands to resist wiping away the stray piece of rice on Viktor’s cheek. He’s nothing like Yuuri expected but he’s real and charming and soft in the most unexpected of ways and Yuuri feels like he’s twelve again and harboring a most terrible and embarrassing crush.

A most terrible and embarrassing crush that he really shouldn’t be harboring for his editor, but Yuuri’s a self-confessed human disaster and Yuuri dares anyone to not have the slightest semblance of a crush on Viktor Nikiforov.

“I’m fine, I’m not hungry,” Yuuri says, promises, meeting Viktor’s eyes over his laptop screen and quirking a smile. “My mom promised to drag me back to Japan if I so much as think about skipping a meal, so I think we’re pretty good on that front.” His mom didn’t say it in those exact words, but Yuuri understood it well enough.

Viktor still looks mildly unconvinced but thankfully lets the subject drop. “Fine,” he mumbles with a pout.

Biting down on a laugh, Yuuri turns his attention back to his screen, index finger making idle circles on the touchpad.

So far, he has four chapters being proofed and five disjointed ones that don’t really belong anywhere that he’s still building up the courage to show Viktor, which makes nine chapters out of the thirty he has outlined. It’s not a terrible speed to write at, but it’s not exactly great either. And if Yuuri’s being honest, he’s still completely lost as to how to fill out the chapters in between the emotionally charged aftermath of the Rostelecom Cup (which he has yet to actually finish) and the Grand Prix Final.

Alexei’s chapters in the previous books were well-received so he thinks he might do another one of those, maybe featuring his mom. Phichit had also joked about writing a Cocoa chapter, which is sadly not going to happen, but Yuuri might finally make good on his promise of a Nikolai chapter since the tiny plot twist he’s been entertaining would call for a different narrator.

He quickly reaches for the nearby pad of post-it notes and scrawls out _BANQUET + KOLYA POV???_ with a small hum. On his lap, Makka lets out a soft woof, rolling on his back and nosing at Yuuri’s hand. It’s such a familiar gesture that Yuuri’s heart squeezes painfully inside his chest and he has to push away from the table, turning his attentions instead on Makka.

“What do you say, Makkachin? Should we stop writing for today?”

Makka licks his hand, making Yuuri giggle.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” he says solemnly, pushing down his screen because he won’t be writing anything more than what he’s written already. Yuuri’s run out of words for today and he needs to stop before he starts writing for that other project he refuses to think about while sober.

Huffing, Viktor pauses his purge of Yuuri’s run-on sentences and says, “I really don’t think you should be letting Makkachin make your decisions for you,” to which Yuuri replies with an affronted gasp.

“Don’t listen to him, Makkachin,” Yuuri says, planting a kiss on the tip of Makka’s nose. He receives a small barrage of doggy kisses in return. “You are a fount of wisdom.” He collapses down onto the floor, taking Makka with him as he goes. “Viktor’s just jealous that you like more than him,” he mock-whispers.

A socked foot pokes him on the side and Yuuri lets out a surprised squeak. “Stop stealing my dog, Katsuki,” Viktor says dispassionately, making a point to underline something on one of the printouts as his foot continues to dig into Yuuri’s side, startling laughter from Yuuri. “Oh?” Viktor grins, putting his pen and the sheaf of papers down. “Are you ticklish?”

“N-No!”

Except that he totally is and Viktor’s foot is digging relentlessly at his side, Makka taking his laughter and wriggling as an invitation to slobber all over his face—a two-pronged attack that has Yuuri calling mercy to deaf ears. He eventually managed to roll away far enough that Viktor’s unfairly long legs can’t reach him, trying and mostly failing to catch his breath.

“I don’t think I’ll ever recover from this betrayal,” Yuuri moans, watching Makka amble towards Viktor’s lap. He staggers to his feet, sniffing delicately at Viktor’s increasingly amused expression. “I’ll remember this, Nikiforov.”

Viktor just laughs in response, giving Yuuri a wink that would kill a lesser man, before turning back to his work. Yuuri, who’s built something of a resistance to Viktor’s entire being after weeks of exposure, thankfully does not die. He does, however, blush right up to his ears, prompting him to make a quick escape to the kitchen. Like he’d told Viktor earlier, he’s really not that hungry yet, so he bypasses the fridge and heads towards what Phichit calls his tea wall, where, as the name implies, various tins of tea are stacked on top of each other.

The tin of genmaicha is already in his hands before he knows it, hands carefully measuring out a portion into a tiny ceramic teapot. He glances at Viktor’s hunched form and back at the selection of teas, deftly picking out the black tea that Mila’s mother gave him the other day, murmuring something in quick Russian that sounds suspiciously like approval.

Approval for what, Yuuri had absolutely no idea.

Yuuri fishes out a teabag and plops it into the pale pink mug with a pig’s snout printed on it (a birthday gift from Yura) that has somehow become _Viktor’s mug_. It still boggles his mind that Viktor has a designated mug, but then again, with the amount of time that Viktor spends in Yuuri’s apartment, it would be weirder for him not to have his own mug. Even Chris had his own mug.

And then Yuuri’s pouring hot water into his teapot and Viktor’s mug, and carting it all back to the low table, along with his mug, teaspoons, and a jar of jam that Viktor had left a few weeks ago because he’s weird and puts jam in tea. The tray meets the table with a clatter, causing Viktor to look up from where he’s been frowning at the paragraph detailing Koushi’s Free Skate.

“Tea?”

“Oh,” Viktor breathes out, eyes widening in mild surprise at the familiar pink mug and the jar of jam that Yuuri gingerly places as close as possible to him without disturbing the printouts. “Thank you.”

Yuuri shrugs, emptying the tray of the teapot and his mug before settling back down on the floor. The tray ends up on the couch, and Yuuri makes a mental note to put it away before the day ends lest he forget and sit down on it and break another one.

Quickly setting a timer on his phone, Yuuri leans back against the couch and watches as Viktor goes back to reading and occasionally writing notes on the margins.

Much like he hates checking his own books out immediately after they’ve been released, Yuuri’s never really been a fan of watching people read his work. It’s been a point of contention between him and Phichit as his best friend likes being able to bombard Yuuri with questions (and pillows) in real time. But it’s one thing to answer questions and read reactions over his phone screen, and another thing entirely to witness it in real life.

Back when he’d had Ciao Ciao as an editor, watching the man read through his manuscripts with a carefully impassive face was a special kind of torture, Yuuri wanting nothing more than to curl up in a ball.

But with Viktor, it’s different.

Because Viktor gets so into it—letting out excited gasps during a particularly good scene, cheeks flushing in pleasure whenever Koushi and Nikolai interact—that being able to watch him read Yuuri’s stories feels like the highest of compliments.

Because Viktor always reads as if each word is precious, as if every chapter is meant to be savored like fine wine.

Because Viktor reads as if there’s nothing else he’d rather do.

 _Except skate_ , a traitorous part of Yuuri thinks, because in another life they would still be skating and instead of writing stories, Yuuri would be carving them on the ice, and Viktor—

“Yuuri?”

Yuuri startles, breaking out of his reverie to gentle fingers flitting along his cheek; Viktor leaning over the table to gaze at him curiously. “Huh?”

“You’ve been staring at me for a while now,” Viktor starts, retracting his hand slowly, the only proof that Viktor had been, in fact, touching Yuuri’s cheek. “And something tells me that it’s not because of me putting jam in my tea.”

And sure enough, Yuuri sees the open jar of jam next to Viktor’s mug and has to suppress a shudder.

“Is there something wrong with my face?”

Viktor is teasing, he knows it, but Yuuri can’t help the yelp he lets out. “No! There’s nothing wrong with your face. I was just thinking.” He says haltingly as he straightens up, reaching for his mug to give his hands something to do. “I was wondering if it’s weird for you to read about skating instead of actually skating.” It’s a dumb question and regret churns like noxious bile in the pit of his stomach and oh god, Yuuri should’ve just kept his mouth shut.

He hazards a look at Viktor, but instead of looking offended, Viktor only looks faintly amused and surprised.

“So you do recognize me from my skating days!”

Yuuri, who owns an embarrassing amount of posters and a framed photo bearing Viktor’ face, splutters, “of course I do! You’re Viktor Nikiforov!”

“You’re the second person to recognize me as a former skater, but ah, Chris never sounded like you did just now,” Viktor says, and Yuuri can feel a blush ignite on his face, because he must have sounded like a crazed fanboy. “And my name doesn’t carry that much significance now, you know.”

Lump in his throat, Yuuri manages a shallow bow. “I’m sorry, that was insensitive of me.”

“Yuuri,” Viktor murmurs, reaching over to touch his hand over his white-knuckled grip on the mug. “It’s fine. It’s been years.”

“Still.”

“Anyway,” Viktor continues, trailing his fingers along Yuuri’s knuckles as he does so. “What was that you were saying? If it was weird reading about skating?” He asks softly and Yuuri nods shakily, not trusting his voice not to break especially when Viktor’s other hand comes up to slowly uncurl Yuuri’s fingers from around his mug. “I never thought about skating for so long until I read your book,” he says, a silent confession as he takes Yuuri’s hand in his, exceedingly gentle in his ministrations. “So instead of it being weird, I guess it was more nostalgic than anything. Like coming home. It’s comforting to have something so familiar in a completely foreign environment.”

“I’m glad,” Yuuri says over the frantic thudding of his heart, curling his fingers around Viktor’s. Before he can say more, Viktor is squeezing his hands, forcing him to look up.

“Do you think it’s weird that I’m doing this instead of skating?”

Yuuri’s barely aware of his mouth falling open in surprise. It’s not a question he expects to hear from anyone, much less Viktor, but when he actually thinks about it, he supposes that if anyone would be asking that question, it would be Viktor. A drastic change in one’s career path is nerve-wracking, Yuuri would know, but what he’d experienced probably didn’t even hold a candle to Viktor’s.

_Is it weird to see Viktor here, instead of on the ice?_

“Not really,” Yuuri finds himself saying, and it’s the truth. “I mean, I do miss seeing you on the ice,” because how can he not? “But I don’t think it’s weird that you’re doing something different now. And I think that as long as you’re happy and content with what you’re doing, then you’re probably doing something right and it shouldn’t matter what other people think.”

“ _Oh_.”

"Does editing make you happy, Viktor?”

“Yes,” Viktor says, softer than Yuuri’s ever heard him, “yes it does.”

.

From: [yakovfeltsman@gmail.com](mailto:yakovfeltsman@gmail.com)  
To: [v_nikiforov@gmail.com](mailto:v_nikiforov@gmail.com)  
Date: Wed, May 25, 2016 at 10:55  
Subject: Re: COMPOSER???

Vitya,

You’re always a bother. Even when you’re in a different country, you’re a bother. Do I want to know why you even need it? I’m guessing not, knowing you. Please, for the love of all things holy, do not tell me. I do not want to know what you plan on doing with this information. I can only hope that it isn’t anything illegal.

I’ve asked my assistant to attach it here.

Lilia sends her regards.

Take care of yourself, brat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's okay, phichit. to me, you are the #bestboy. pls leave a comment if you too, thinks that phichit is the #bestboy (loljk)
> 
> i really, really wanted to have that whole: "i just want viktor to be viktor" but then i realized that MOST OF THE CANON LINES CAN NO LONGER BE USED BECAUSE I HAVE YUURI WRITING THE DAMN STORY. so. you have my awkward attempt at emotional pep talks what


	5. HISTORY MAKER

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There’s a surreal moment where Viktor thinks he might just get into a fight with a tiny, tiny child.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi guys!! sorry! long time no update!! i got...sidetracked with the regency au (SO MANY AUS I NEED TO BE STOPPED). i also did not expect this to be...long?? BUT I MEAN. it's 7k+ words worth of update so YAY!!
> 
> Thanks so much for waiting and get hype because!!! we've!!! got!!! development!!! 
> 
> did a quick readthrough but probs still chock-full of mistakes hit me up for any glaring ones and i will fix it.
> 
> (edit: thanks as always to forochel <3)

**amberdextrous**

**WHY HISTORY MAKER IS MY NEW FAVE KATSUKI BOOK AND WHY IT SHOULD BE YOURS TOO**

  * it’s by Yuuri Katsuki (of kintsugi and lohengrin fame. yes im counting lohengrin because it’s a fucking masterpiece and you can read my rant here)
  * the book is p much what would happen if Katsuki-sensei filled a trope bingo card
  * which lends the question of whether this WAS the product of a ttrope bingo cars and if it was then YUURI KATSUKI SHOULD TEACH US HIS WAYS
  * SPACE OPERA TIME TRAVEL SHENANIGANS
  * NO FORCED HETEROSEXUAL RELATIONSHIPS
  * There’s like a SUPER diverse cast. LIKE. Super diverse IDK how he did it buthe dID
  * AN ACE CHARACTER THAT IS EXPLICITLY ACE NO SERIOULSY
  * It’s a book that single-handedly tries to subvert every trope known to fandomkind and SUCCEEDS!!!



PLs pls pls read it it’s such a fun book and the happiness you will feel will be indirectly proportional to how sad lohengrin made you

              **amberdextrous**

              bringing this back because OKAY FINE On Ice: Piano is super, super good, but HISTORY MAKER IS STILL A FUCKING RIDE OKAY

source: amberdextrous #Katsuki Yuuri #History Maker #On Ice #I AGREE WITH OP BUT ON ICE STILL LIVES IN MY HEART

***

“I can’t believe you’re going out on a date with your editor.”

The yelp Yuuri lets out when he hits his head on the drawer handle is anything but dignified. He glances over his shoulder to glare at Phichit who’s predictably tapping at his phone and smiling wickedly at Yuuri like the worst best friend a boy can ever ask for. He’s sitting prettily on Yuuri’s bed, propped up on the headboard as he watches Yuuri get ready.

“It’s not a date,” Yuuri says for the umpteenth time today and he has a feeling he’ll be saying it a few times more before the day is through.

“Uh-huh,” Phichit starts, raising a perfectly manicured eyebrow. “Which is why you’re wearing your _fuck me_ jeans.”

“My what?!” Yuuri splutters, looking down at the pair of faded jeans he has on, worn and soft from so many washings. “These are just my regular jeans!”

“Exactly,” Phichit says nonsensically, before pointing out, “And you’re wearing such a _nice shirt_ for a not-date.”

Straightening up from where he’s crouched in front of his dresser hunting for socks, Yuuri finally faces his best friend while running a self-conscious hand down the front of his shirt, which okay, fine, _is_ one of his nicer shirts that Minako had picked out for him when she’d dragged him out to the mall the last time she visited. Not that this being one of his nicer shirts means anything, Yuuri thinks resolutely.

Because it doesn’t.

Not at all.

It’s not as if Yuuri’s wearing a nice shirt to impress his editor because that would be absurd and unprofessional and Yuuri’s all about being a professional.

“This is the only shirt I have left because I haven’t done laundry yet.”

Honestly, it was either this shirt or the pink one with HEAD BITCH IN CHARGE emblazoned in sparkly letters on the front that he had originally bought for Mari as a joke but ended up keeping for himself, and well, it honestly was not that difficult of a choice.

Phichit just hums back, unconvinced.

“And it’s not like this is the first time I’ve done this with an editor,” Yuuri continues, socks in hand as he approaches and sits down on the bed.

The bed dips as Phichit wiggles his way towards him, head landing beside Yuuri’s thigh with a soft thump. “Oh my god,” Phichit breathes out, looking up at Yuuri with bright eyes and it’s a testament to Yuuri’s strength of will that he doesn’t poke Phichit in the eyes just like Mari used to do to him when they were kids. “Please tell me it was Ciao Ciao.”

“What?” He pauses putting his left sock on to flick Phichit on the nose. “No, it was Chris. He and I went to a—” Yuuri cuts himself off abruptly, glancing down at the increasingly interested curve of Phichit’s smile, before continuing, willfully ignoring the way his friend is rolling to his stomach. “—club. And I was dressed much nicer then than I am now.”

Mostly because Chris had dressed him, right down to his underwear— _”Think of it as immersion, Yuuri! We have to dress the part!”_ —so that they would fit in.

“Wait, when was this? And why was I not informed or invited?” Phichit demands, the bed dipping as he gets on his knees.

Yuuri makes a show of thinking about it as he stands up, fighting the smug smile that’s threatening to break out on his face. “Last year? You were visiting your sister.” And it had been such a great coincidence too. Yuuri couldn’t have timed it better himself because he knew that if Phichit hadn’t been visiting Naak, then the Thai would have tagged along with them.

“Damnit.” Phichit grumbles under his breath, getting on his feet and following Yuuri out into the sitting room. He makes a beeline for the couch, jumping down on it while Yuuri heads for the refrigerator.

Picking out two bottles of Ramune, Yuuri hip-checks the refrigerator door closed. He hands a bottle to Phichit who takes it eagerly before he hunkers down on the overstuffed armchair, tucking his legs under him. Opening the bottle is almost second nature, the tinkling of the marble reminding Yuuri of muggy summers spent plastered onto tatami mats, windows and doors thrown wide open to catch the nonexistent breeze. The taste, when Yuuri finally takes a long pull, is equally nostalgic and he makes a mental note to thank Mari for including a few bottles in the package she sent.

“Alright, spill, where did you guys go?” Phichit asks once he’s managed to open his own bottle.

“A club,” comes the succinct and completely unsatisfying answer. Yuuri smiles into the rim of his bottle when Phichit scowls.

“Nuh-uh, you hesitated earlier which means it’s something else.” Eyebrows knitting together, Phichit shifts on the couch, narrowing his eyes at Yuuri in suspicion. “Does it have something to do with the new book?”

“I guess you’ll just have to wait and see.”

Which of course means that it does.

And Phichit knows it too, if the tortured noise he lets out is any clue. “Like everyone else?! Yuuri! You’re killing me here!” He cries, to which Yuuri just smiles benignly and takes another pull of Ramune. “I’m gonna ask Chris.”

Yuuri lets him send a text to Chris before he snorts. “He’s not gonna tell you,” he says in a sing-song as Phichit’s phone buzzes with a message.

“That’s what you— _oh, come on_!” Phichit’s face goes through triumph, shock, and crushing disappointment so quickly when he reads what can only be Chris saying _no_ , that Yuuri doesn’t bother hiding his laugh. “Just a little hint?” Phichit presses, turning back to him pleadingly and throwing in a wobbly pout for good measure.

Nothing short of Viktor parading around naked can faze Yuuri at this point, having been exposed to Viktor’s many facial expressions, so Phichit’s pouting only receives a dispassionate blink when it would have easily broken Yuuri a few months back.

“It’ll ruin the surprise,” Yuuri just says, finishing off his Ramune with relish.

Phichit pouts even harder. “I hate surprises.”

Yuuri snorts, leaning down to put his empty bottle on the coffee table before rolling his eyes at Phichit. “You love surprises,” he says, remembering all the surprise parties Phichit has thrown for him, their friends, and his hamsters over the years.

“Ugh, fine. But you’re killing me, Yuuri. You are breaking my heart. You already dethroned me as your best boy and now you won’t even tell me where you went with Chris.”

“How tragic,” Yuuri intones, completely deadpan and receives a pillow to the face for his efforts.

Phichit’s bark of laughter is quickly interrupted by a very familiar knock on the door.

And yeah, okay, _fine_.

Yuuri will admit that he has it really bad if he can differentiate Viktor’s knock from other people’s knocks, but in his defense, Viktor _does_ have a very distinctive knock and it’s definitely not Yuuri’s fault that he’s a very observant individual. He writes stories for a living. Being observant of the teeny-tiniest details comes with the job description.  

He knows a thousand cake recipes because of a single paragraph for Lohengrin, as well as how to successfully get away with murder because he got really into the research for a subplot that didn’t quite pan out in History Maker. Yuuri knows and remembers a bunch of things that don’t really have that much bearing in real life and Viktor’s very distinctive knock pattern just happens to be one of those things.

“Oooh,” Phichit croons when he notices Yuuri perk up, a grin that can only ever be described as shit-eating spreading like wildfire on his face. “Looks like it’s go time.”

Rolling his eyes, Yuuri hastily makes his way to the small foyer, Phichit following doggedly behind him.

He bites out a quick, “ _behave_ ,” to Phichit before he’s unlocking the door, a smile alighting on his face almost instinctively when he catches sight of Viktor standing in the hallway.

“Yuuri.” Viktor smiles, like the first ray of sunlight after a cold and lonely winter—eyes crinkling and cheeks dimpling adorably—as if Yuuri’s name and presence is some sort of gift, and _wow, isn’t that a thought_. “Hi,” he continues, smile never wavering. “Are you ready?”

Yuuri nods, eyes almost unwilling to part from Viktor and he can’t really blame them. Viktor looks great. He’s seen the man in tight-fitting spandex, in tracksuits and smart suits, but they all pale in comparison to Viktor dressed casually in a wide-necked shirt and a pair of pants that hug his long legs perfectly.

(Of course, today’s outfit is still no match to Viktor in soft loungewear, looking for all the world as if he rightfully belongs on Yuuri’s couch and Yuuri’s life.)

“Yeah,” he squeaks after a very unsubtle nudge from Phichit. Yuuri doesn’t have to look to know that Phichit is definitely leering up at Viktor from behind him. “Yeah, I—let me just get my bag and we can go.” He turns to see Phichit looking at him expectantly and sighs. “Viktor,” he says, looking over his shoulder before turning back to his best friend who was now wearing a worryingly wide grin. “This is Phichit. Phichit, meet Viktor.”

“Hi!” Phichit greets as Yuuri practically runs past him to the couch where he’d left his bag. Yuuri trusts Phichit with his life, trusts him to ride or die for him at any given moment, but Phichit also knows too much about Yuuri’s sordid past life as _vicchan_fan_ on Livejournal and thus, cannot be trusted to not quote any of Yuuri’s RPF to an unsuspecting Viktor. “Phichit Chulanont, official best friend and—“

“Author of _Terra Incognita_ ,” Viktor says and, from what little Yuuri can see of the foyer, shakes Phichit’s hand.

“Oh! You’ve read it?”

The delight is evident in Phichit’s voice and Yuuri smiles as he makes his way back to the foyer, messenger bag slung over his shoulder. It isn’t very often that Phichit gets recognized for something other than being a YouTube star and all-around internet sensation (Phichit’s exact words), so Yuuri totally understands why Phichit is practically vibrating with glee, especially since _Terra Incognita_ is his best friend’s baby.

 _Terra Incognita: An Asian Boy in a Very White World_ by _Phichit Chulanont_ is an autobiographical account of Phichit’s first few years in the US. It contains a veritable collection of funny and heartfelt anecdotes and thoughtful social commentaries that cover everything from food (“Everything was just so big. The very first time my sister took me out to eat, I had a burger the size of my head. I could almost feel my mom glaring at me over the ocean at how unhealthy it was.”) to racism (“Okay, so. Here’s the thing. Racism? Not the same in every country. Like, okay, yeah, I appreciate your opinion, Helen, but you can’t apply your views everywhere. Because while your experiences are valid in the here and now, it doesn’t mean that you can just slap it on everywhere like a used band-aid. Repeat after me: context is key.”) and is basically Phichit condensed in a 200+ page paperback.

“I don’t normally read non-fiction,” Viktor says, as Yuuri sits down to pull on a pair of worn sneakers. “But your views about western outlook with regards to race and ethnicity in Asia, particularly Southeast Asia, is honestly one of the best social commentaries I’ve read.”

Of all the ways Yuuri expects Viktor to react to his best friend, it’s definitely not this.

“That is honestly the best thing anyone has ever said to me today,” Phichit says, staring up at Viktor with stars in his eyes. “And my mom called this morning to tell me that I was her favorite son,” he continues, and Yuuri watches as Viktor’s eyebrows rise in bemusement.

Straightening up, Yuuri points out, “You’re her only son.”

“Yes,” Phichit agrees readily, before continuing with a dramatic flourish that Yuuri is more than familiar with, “but I’m not always her favorite.” As silly as it sounds, Yuuri unfortunately knows this to be true, especially after what happened last year when Phichit had forgotten to greet his mother on her birthday and he’d been forced to act as some sort of intermediary between them. “Anyway,” Phichit begins, turning back to Viktor. “It was nice to meet you, Viktor. You boys go have fun on your _research trip_.”

How Phichit manages to make the words _research trip_ sound like an innuendo, Yuuri will never know, but he does, and it’s all Yuuri can do not to groan and hurry out of his own apartment. Yuuri supposes that he should be thankful that Phichit didn’t call it a date because he would’ve spontaneously combusted if he did.

Adjusting the strap of his bag, Yuuri turns to Phichit to rattle off a few reminders (“No loud music. Try not to get paint on my ceiling this time.”) as he finally walks the scant distance to the hallway where Viktor has been patiently waiting, before ending with: “Don’t eat all my senbei,” because Mari’s next care package won’t be until the end of June and Yuuri will die if he runs out before then.

“No promises,” Phichit sing-songs before proceeding to shut the door on Yuuri’s face.

Viktor’s bewilderment is an almost palpable thing and Yuuri wishes that he he has an explanation for what just happened aside from Phichit being his usual self, but he really, really doesn’t.

“So, uh, that’s Phichit,” Yuuri says after a few beats of silence passes and he chances a look at Viktor who still has his head tilted adorably in confusion.

“I thought he was coming with us.”

Yuuri grimaces, shaking his head as they start heading for the elevators. “Oh, no. Phichit’s shooting a new video for his channel and he’s borrowing my apartment for it.”

“Why is he making the video at your apartment?”

“They’re fixing up the plumbing at his place.” That, and the theme for this week’s vlog happens to be ‘ _Raiding my Best Friend’s Closet!_ ’. Yuuri’s already cleared out all of the incriminating items hidden within, and Phichit assured him that he’ll only be playing dress-up with Yuuri’s clothes and maybe take a quick shot of Yuuri’s idea wall that’s almost always covered with post-it notes, so there’s no need to worry. Of course, it still doesn’t stop Yuuri from worrying, mostly because worrying is one of the things that Yuuri does best.

Viktor makes a noise of understanding, but before he can say anything more, the elevator doors open, revealing Mrs. Petrova from unit 24J who, if Yuuri’s memory serves him right, is on her way for afternoon tea/gossip session with Mrs. Fernandez of unit 23A.

“Hello, Svetlana,” Viktor greets while Yuuri does a shallow bow, the both of them moving back to let Mrs. Petrova alight from the elevator.

“Hello,” Mrs. Petrova nods at them both before giving Viktor what can only be a smug smirk, and saying, “веселитесь на вашем свидании.”

“Это не свидание,” Viktor bites out with a quick glance to Yuuri. A bright red flush has erupted on his cheeks and even with his spotty knowledge of the Russian language, Yuuri has a pretty good idea what Mrs. Petrova just said and feels a similar blush working its way up his face.

Mrs. Babicheva said the exact same thing to him earlier, after all.

“You have fun, Yura.” Mrs. Petrova tells him with a gentle squeeze to his arm, a knowing smile never wavering on her face and god, is Yuuri really so obvious that even the old ladies in his building know about his unfortunate crush on Viktor? Although, to be fair, Yuuri guesses that if anyone is going to know about it, it would be the small army of old ladies in his building with their biweekly meetings and keen sense for drama. “Let Vitya pay for everything,” she says in a stage whisper, a final parting shot before bustling away, humming merrily as if she hadn’t just insinuated _so much_ in so short a time.

He’s still reeling from Mrs. Petrova’s words when Viktor mutters something in Russian that gets lost under the sound of the elevator doors closing, the familiar strains of Muzak drowning out any further mumblings. The smart thing to do would be to let the whole scenario be and let the whole embarrassing misunderstanding come to an end, but Yuuri has never been particularly smart when it comes to Viktor Nikiforov ( _see_ Yuuri Katsuki, ages 10 to 16) and he isn’t about to start now.

“Does свидании mean date?”

“Yes,” Viktor winces, tone apologetic as if it is somehow his fault that people are mistaking their research trip for date, and not Yuuri and his very obvious and totally unprofessional feelings. “She thinks we’re going out on a date.”

“Mrs. Babicheva does too,” Yuuri offers, gaze fixed to their distorted reflections on the elevator doors. He’s trying for nonchalant, really, he is, but Yuuri’s pretty sure his tone falls under _very, very concerned, oh god_ as he continues, “Which is ridiculous because why would _you_ go out with someone like _me_?”

“Because you’re cute.”

Yuuri makes a weird strangled noise, head whipping to look at Viktor with wide eyes and the most incredulous expression he can muster. “I think between the two of us, you’re the one who needs glasses.”

“Or maybe it’s time for you to change your prescription since you can’t see how cute you obviously are,” Viktor returns easily, a finger tapping the tip of Yuuri’s nose, causing a frisson of warmth to spread through Yuuri with just that one fleeting touch.

Cheeks burning, Yuuri steps back, one hand coming up to rub at his suddenly warm nose. There are alarm bells blaring in his head, and Yuuri feels almost like screaming, his heart threatening to jump out of his chest and into Viktor’s hands.

“I’m not cute,” he chokes out, because he _isn’t_ , no matter what his mother, Minako, Yuuko, and Mari, under extreme duress, may say otherwise.

“No,” Viktor says, and for a brief moment, reality starts making sense again before Viktor proceeds to destabilize it, towering over him with a fond smile that shakes Yuuri to his very core and saying, “You’re adorable. Charming. Delightful. Captivating.”

“Oh my god,” Yuuri says to himself as Viktor proceeds to let out out a thesaurus’ worth of synonyms, one for every floor they pass, and at this point, the ridiculousness of the entire situation has finally caught up to Yuuri and he’s giggling at every word that leaves Viktor’s lips.

At some point during their descent, Viktor has sidled up next to him, standing close enough that Yuuri gets a whiff of lavender and mint every time he took a breath.

“Darling. Dear. Dreamy,” Viktor is enumerating still just as the elevator staggers to a stop and the doors open to the silent lobby.

There are a multitude of things that Yuuri can say, confessions that would fit in like a puzzle piece with the warm and gentle way Viktor is looking at him. _I am so thankful that you’re here_ burns at his tongue, right next to _you’re too good to me_ and _I wish you meant every word you just said._ But none of them leave his lips, instead Yuuri smiles, soft and true, and slips his hand into Viktor’s.

“Come on, we’ll be late for our train.”

.

From: [lee-seunggil@gmail.com](mailto:lee-seunggil@gmail.com)  
To: [v-nikiforov@gmail.com](mailto:v-nikiforov@gmail.com); [ccialdini@gmail.com](mailto:ccialdini@gmail.com); [josefkarpisek@gmail.com](mailto:josefkarpisek@gmail.com)  
Date: Fri, June 23, 2016 at 11:08  
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Katsuki Sales Report

See attached files.

***

From: [ccialdini@gmail.com](mailto:ccialdini@gmail.com)  
To: [v-nikiforov@gmail.com](mailto:v-nikiforov@gmail.com); [lee-seunggil@gmail.com](mailto:lee-seunggil@gmail.com); [josefkarpisek@gmail.com](mailto:josefkarpisek@gmail.com)  
Date: Fri, June 23, 2016 at 12:15  
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Katsuki Sales Report

The numbers look good. What do you think, Josef?

Viktor, send me another email detailing on how you plan to do this.

***

From: [josefkarpisek@gmail.com](mailto:josefkarpisek@gmail.com)  
To: [v-nikiforov@gmail.com](mailto:v-nikiforov@gmail.com); [lee-seunggil@gmail.com](mailto:lee-seunggil@gmail.com); [ccialdini@gmail.com](mailto:ccialdini@gmail.com)  
Date: Fri, June 23, 2016 at 12:18  
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Katsuki Sales Report

It’s an okay from me.

Good luck with this, Nikiforov.

***

“I forgot to say this earlier, but congratulations on getting Yuuri his soundtrack.”

Chris’ voice brings Viktor out of the light doze he’d fallen into and he finds himself blinking off the dredges of sleep still coating his eyes as he glances out the open window. It’s early enough that the usual hustle and bustle of a Friday night has yet to encompass the city, allowing Chris’ hybrid to speed through the streets free from the usual tumult of traffic. They’re just a few blocks away from his building and it’s only when he sees the familiar facade of Cafe Les Fleurs, that Chris’ words finally catch up to him and Viktor turns back to his friend, who’s thankfully too busy navigating through the narrow side streets to take notice of his prolonged silence.

Shifting on his seat, Viktor gives himself a small, bolstering shake before saying, “Thank you. It’s been an experience.” His entire day has been an endless flurry of emails and sales statistics and sending out interns to the sales department to pester them into replying to Viktor’s strongly-worded emails. “I’m pretty sure Seung-gil from sales officially hates me now.”

Especially after the last time when Seung-gil himself had gone up to their floor to hand Viktor the print-outs of the On Ice sales report and looking as if he’d been contemplating murder on the way up.

Chris snorts. “Seung-gil from sales hates everything and everyone with the sole exception of his dog. I wouldn’t take it too personally,” he says, neatly overtaking a motorcycle. “Anyway, how has it been editing for your favorite author?”

How _has_ it been editing for Yuuri?

“I—it’s nothing like I expected,” Viktor says and means, _Yuuri is one surprise after another_ , his voice suddenly dripping with so much emotion that has Chris looking at him in interest. “I mean, I haven’t even thought of Yuuri as _Yuuri Katsuki_ for months now.” Because Yuuri is _Yuuri_ and his ability to write the most beautiful stories, is just one thing in the myriad of great things that make up who he is. “One of my fears about editing for him, for On Ice, is that the magic will disappear, or something, but—“

“But?”

“If anything, knowing how Yuuri crafts his stories is an experience in and of itself.” Even Yuuri’s terrible writing habits do nothing but endear him more to Viktor. “He’s brilliant, Chris, and seeing how much effort he puts into every word makes everything even more magical.”

For a moment, the only other noise inside the car is the smooth hum of the engine, even though the suddenly loud drumbeat of Viktor’s heart would try to claim otherwise. And then the engine shuts off, and Viktor is left with a realization he does not have words for.

At least not yet.

“Huh,” Chris finally says, a thoughtful expression on his face and Viktor has a feeling that even if he has yet to find words to describe the burgeoning emotion welling up in his chest, Chris already has. “Well, damn,” Chris adds after a few more moments before shaking his head and grinning, unlocking the door with a flick of a switch. “Say hello to Yuuri for me.”

Viktor nods, grabbing his bag and opening the door. “Thanks for the ride,” he says, before finally stepping out, door swinging shut behind him.

Instead of his usual repartee, Chris only laughs, peeking out of the open window to say, “Your building’s on the way to Mathieu’s office so it’s not a big deal,” just as the engine starts again with a soft hum.

Viktor only has time for a quick wave goodbye before Chris hits the road, leaving him standing on the sidewalk. He’s no longer sleepy, the brief conversation about Yuuri working better than a shot of espresso in waking him up, and thus he’s sufficiently chipper as he makes his way through the lobby and up Yuuri’s floor to pick Makka up.

He’s earlier than usual, and Viktor finds himself idly revisiting an idea that Mila had planted inside his head earlier. An idea that involves Viktor asking Yuuri out to dinner at the newly-opened Indian restaurant down the street, and seeing as he’s already here just in time for dinner, he supposes that now’s a good time as any. And if Yuuri asks, Viktor can just say that it’s a celebration for the soundtrack instead of a very transparent excuse for a date.

With his mind made up, Viktor quickly alights from the elevator to the now familiar hallways of the twenty-third floor. It’s a brief walk to unit 23D and Viktor already has an entire speech planned that unfortunately goes down the drain in a matter of seconds.

“Who’re you?”

There’s a tiny little boy glaring up at him in suspicion when he finally knocks on Yuuri's door, and Viktor can only stare, bug-eyed at the familiar-looking blond. He takes a step back to glance at the door to check that yes, this is, in fact unit 23D and Viktor did not accidentally knock on a stranger’s door. Still, the silver 23D on the door does not answer why a grumpy little boy is answering Yuuri’s door and glaring at Viktor like there’s no tomorrow.

“I’m Viktor,” he says, trying to peek inside the small opening for a sight of Yuuri’s dark locks. Unfortunately, he only manages to catch a glimpse of the empty sitting room which means that Yuuri’s either in the kitchen or his room. “Is Yuuri home?”

The little boy only narrows his green eyes. “No,” he mumbles out, a blatant lie if Viktor ever heard one, especially when he thinks that he just heard Yuuri's voice. “He’s not here. Go ‘way.”

There’s a surreal moment where Viktor thinks he might just get into a fight with a tiny, tiny child, but it passes quickly enough when hurried footsteps sound from inside the apartment and he hears Yuuri say, “Yura, didn’t I tell you not to open the door without me?” And then Yuuri’s pulling the door open and staring at Viktor with wide eyes. “Viktor! Hi! You’re here early.”

“Work finished early,” Viktor says, his earlier speech turning into a bumbling mess in the face of Yuuri and his pastel blue apron. “I—is it—I was actually going to ask if you wanted to go grab dinner.” The words feel clumsy on his tongue so Viktor backtracks, giving Yuuri a small, strained smile. “But you’re obviously occupied. So I’ll just get Makka and—”

“Stay for dinner?” Yuuri asks, hopeful and Viktor lets out the breath he didn’t know he was holding as Yuuri opens the door wider, welcoming him in with a tilt of his head. “We can go out for dinner some other time if uh, you still want to.”

Viktor’s already nodding before Yuuri can even finish his statement, following up with, “Are you sure you don’t mind me coming over for dinner?” It’s on such short notice and Yuuri, as evidenced by the small child still eyeing Viktor with enough distrust to last a lifetime, wasn’t really expecting him to come early and Viktor does not want to impose.

“No, not at all.” Yuuri shakes his head, reaching out a hand to pull Viktor inside, retreating back to the small foyer with the little boy in tow. “I actually cooked a lot and I was planning on setting aside some for you when you picked Makka up later. But since you’re already here, I thought we could just eat together.”

And then Yuuri smiles and Viktor finds the words that eluded him earlier in the edges of Yuuri’s lips and the twinkle of his eyes, and thinks, oh, _oh, so this is what it feels like_.

“Yuuri, I—”

“Yuuri! I’m hungry!”

Yuuri startles, gaze falling away from Viktor to the little boy clinging at his pant leg.

“Sh—sorry, Yura. Dinner will be soon,” Yuuri says as he runs a hand over the boy’s blond hair while green eyes flash up at Viktor in triumph. He doesn’t get much time to examine the action much further, what with Yuuri looking back up at him and introducing him to the boy who’s gone back to glaring at him. “Um, this is Viktor, he’s my editor and he’s Makkachin’s owner.”

If not for Yuuri’s presence, Viktor’s pretty sure that the the tiny, small child would have stuck his tongue out at him before running off. As it is, Viktor just gets treated to the most imperious, “Whatever,” from a boy that barely reaches his knees.

“Sorry.” Yuuri says in a tone that tells Viktor that this is not the first time this has happened, and it comforts Viktor enough to finally step inside Yuuri’s apartment, door closing behind him with a small click. “That’s Yuri Plisetsky and he’s keeping me company for the time being.”

There’s something familiar about Yuuri’s words that has Viktor asking, “How old is he?”

“Six and a half.”

“I see,” Viktor says with a grin as he toes off his shoes, memories of babysitting an eleven-year-old Mila coming to mind. “And I’m guessing he’s too old for a babysitter”

Yuuri snorts, teeth digging into his bottom lip as he unsuccessfully fights off a smile. “Oh, absolutely. Which is why I’m definitely _not_ babysitting him,” Yuuri says before gesturing to Viktor with a flick of his hand. “Make yourself at home, I just need to add a few more minutes and we can eat. Makkachin’s napping in the sitting room.”

“Do you need some help?”

“Oh no, no, it’s fine. Go sit down.”

As he makes his way to the sitting area, where Makka is indeed sleeping and crammed under the coffee table, Viktor is immediately hit by the mouthwatering smell of whatever Yuuri’s cooking. It’s a heady mix of something sweet and savory and Viktor cannot wait to find out what it is and he collapses on the couch in a daze. Of course, when he finally breaks out of the hungry haze he’s in, he’s met with tiny, tiny Yuri Plisetsky glaring at him from the floor where he’s aggressively coloring in what looks to be a tiger.

The way Viktor sees it, he has several choices. He can:

          A. Stew in an awkward silence with a six-year-old and wait for Yuuri to finish cooking.  
          B. Wake up Makka and cuddle with him.  
          C. Escape to the kitchen and deal with Yuuri’s scolding if/when it comes.  
          D. Talk to Yuri.

Viktor chooses D.

Like an idiot.

“Hello.”

Yuri pauses in his quest to use up his orange crayon until it’s a stub of its former self to stick his nose up at Viktor. “I don’t like you,” he says, giving Viktor a glare that would have been very impressive and threatening if anyone else aside from a six-year-old had done it. “ _I don’t like how you look at Yuuri_ ,” Yuri continues, and it takes a second for Viktor to realize that he’s speaking in Russian. “ _It’s gross. You’re gross_. _I don’t want to talk to you._ ”

Well, Viktor thinks, at least the kid was honest.

(He really should’ve just gone with option C.)

***

**Chris**

I think I was just threatened by a 6 year old

I see you’ve met Yura.

He hasn’t stopped glaring at me since I  
arrived!!

So much hate in such a small body.

Careful. He bites.

.

Yuuri can’t remember the last time he went to Café Les Fleurs without Viktor.

Every recent memory he has of the cafe includes Viktor and it’s just a bit unsettling. Cafe Les Fleurs has always been his refuge of sorts. A safe space where Yuuri can be (relatively) alone when the silence of his apartment becomes oppressive and the words clamoring for release in his chest don’t suffice to fill in the quiet. He almost always goes there alone. Even Phichit knows never to bother him there unless invited, and those invitations were few and far between because Yuuri’s always valued his privacy.

But Yuuri has shared Cafe Les Fleurs with Viktor from the very start, and now that he’s here without Viktor for the first time in months, Yuuri’s feeling just a tiny bit lost.

It’s a silly thing to obsess over, but he does anyway, especially when the empty seat beside him calls attention to Viktor’s absence. He’s in a much-awaited meeting with Tina de Rossi, Viktor’s former composer, who’s in the middle of telling him about her idea of having a choirboy sing the lyrics for Agape, and here he is, missing Viktor as if he hadn’t just seen him earlier.

“—so that we can have this whole angelic vibe for the piece along with the organ,” Tina is saying, peering at him through her glasses that look even thicker than his own. “What do you think, Mr. Katsuki?”

“Yeah,” Yuuri nods, squinting down at the mess of notes on their table. They’ve made good progress for just a single afternoon’s worth of work and Yuuri hopes that the rest of their meetings would be just as productive. “It’ll also be a good contrast to the Eros piece which is gonna be purely instrumental.”

Yuuri’s music background comes from ballet, skating, and the handful of piano lessons he took as a child so he’s more than willing to let both Tina and Leo (who still hasn’t come back from getting more coffee) take the reins when it comes to actually producing the music. He can, however, help conceptualize since they’re all going blind into this with only Yuuri’s notes to guide the way.

“Ah, speaking of Eros, do you have a particular style of music in mind? I know it’s supposed to be about sexual love, making it the spiritual opposite of Agape, but I felt that you held back a bit in the email you sent me.”

Mostly because it had felt awkward to tell a complete stranger that Eros is a seduction song.

Which, of course, only means that he gets to tell a new acquaintance that Eros is a seduction song in person, instead of via email.

Awesome.

Grimacing, Yuuri fiddles with his pen, eager for something to occupy his attention with. “Well, for Eros, I was actually thinking of a tango? I mostly listened to Isaac Albéniz when I was writing for it and I really like the idea of guitars?” From across the table, Yuuri can hear Tina furiously writing down on her notebook. “It has to be something sultry, but not too sultry. Something that would titillate the senses and leave you wanting more. Eros is a performance that’s meant to seduce the audience’s mind, body, and soul, and the music has to reflect that,” he finishes, suddenly feeling as if he’d just ran a marathon. “Sorry, I got carried away.”

“No! No, it’s fine! It’s very interesting!” Tina exclaims, eyes widening as she waves her hands around. “I’ve always thought so, but you paint such great images with your words, Mr. Katsuki.” She adds with a tinkling laugh. “But I guess that’s to be expected. I’m quite a fan of your _On Ice_ series and when Viktor contacted me about this, I knew I had to do it even if it meant skipping my family reunion.”

“You’ve read my books?” The question leaves his mouth before Yuuri can think on them, and he knows that if Viktor was here, he’d be giving Yuuri this ridiculous kicked puppy look. “And Yuuri’s just fine, please.”

Tina grins, before continuing, “I think it’s safe to say that every skater I know has read your book. It’s not every day that we get a very honest and very accurate portrayal of the sport, so it’s been really exciting to read about Koushi’s journey.”

While Yuuri knows that there are indeed real-life skaters reading his books—Phichit retweets each and every mention and sends Yuuri BuzzFeed listicles attesting to the fact from time to time—it’s still different hearing about it in person, so there’s no stopping the hot flush spreading on his cheeks.

He’s only just managed to mangle a shaky, “ _grazie_ ,” when Tina perks up, leaning over their table in excitement.

“How about Stammi Vicino?” She asks, eyes shining brightly as she waits eagerly for Yuuri’s answer. “What were you thinking of when you made the routine?”

Yuuri’s breath hitches.

The short of it is that Stammi Vicino was the product of an ill-advised all-nighter sponsored by Red Bull.

The longer and much more personal story behind it is this:

It had been the anniversary of Vicchan’s death when he’d made the routine, and Yuuri had just gotten off the phone with Mari and he’d felt incredibly lonely. Lost. As if his heart was trying to carve its way out of his chest and flop uselessly onto the floor. Not even his trusty YouTube playlist of cute dog videos could bring a smile to his face and Yuuri had found himself absentmindedly typing _Viktor Nikiforov_ on the search bar before falling into a rabbit hole of old skating videos that Yuuri watched in an almost feverish haze.

A few videos of other skaters had filtered through and Yuuri had thought haughtily how Viktor Nikiforov would have skated better, would have landed that quad effortlessly, would have skated a routine that simultaneously broke and mended everyone’s hearts, before remembering that Viktor Nikiforov couldn’t.

Not anymore.

“I was thinking that I wanted Viktor Nikiforov to skate to it.”

***

**Phichit**

Are Leo and Guang-hong dating?

NO

BUT THEY SHOULD

WHY

WHAT DO YOU KNOW????

I’m pretty sure I’m watching them flirt  
right now? Which wow feels skeevy.

WHAT NO YUURI GO BACK THERE AND  
INVESTIGATE

KEEP TEXTING

WAIT WHERE ARE YOU???

At Café Les Fleurs.

I’m supposed to have a meeting with  
Leo about the soundtrack but he’s been  
talking to Guang-hong for an hour now.

I’m torn about interrupting.

P?

Ohmygod are you seriously coming over  
here??

I NEED TO SEE THIS WITH MY OWN EYES

Also. I was supposed to meet SG there later  
so two birds, one stone

Oh! Is he bringing Hyeun?

Wait lemme ask

He says, and I quote, yes.

.

**2008 Russian Nationals FS Viktor Nikiforov**

**quadlyfe**  
Subscribe                                                                                                                                                 60, 989 views

\+ Add to             Share                  More

 **Published on Dec. 26, 2008  
** Виктор Никифоров FS Danse Macabre

Show more

***

It’s poetic, Viktor thinks rather hysterically as he glides into a spread eagle, knees protesting after that last jump because of course he’d try to add another jump, another quad, gotta keep the audience excited, grabbing at the edge of their seats trying to figure out what Viktor Nikiforov will do next to dazzle them all—

It’s poetic, he thinks as he almost stumbles into the last spin, and under the noise of the crowd and the closing notes of the piano blasting through the speakers, Viktor imagines that he can hear the creaking of his very bones, ready to snap and break and fail him one final time—

It’s poetic, because he’d picked Saint-Saëns’ _Danse Macabre_ on a whim. _For the drama_ , he’d told Yakov, and Viktor never thought, never even imagined that he’ll be performing it quite so literally.

The applause, when it comes, sounds more like a death knell, a countdown to the end, Icarus screaming in agony as he hurtles down to the sea.

_(Viktor’s barely even grazed the sun before he comes falling down, down—_

— _down_.)

Viktor doesn’t really know how he makes it off the ice and down to the Kiss & Cry, but he thinks it has something to do with the death grip Yakov and Lilia have on his arms, supporting him still even as his failures and pains carve him open, his bleeding entrails hidden by the shiny facade of a new world record.

“Are you with us, Vitya?” Yakov, or maybe Lilia, asks. Viktor can’t tell anymore, the pain lancing through him overtaking everything else.

“Breathe, Vitya. It’ll be over soon. Hold on for just a bit more.”

He nods, tries to use _YakovandLilia_ ’s voice as a buoy to get him safely back to the shore like he always does _because Viktor is drowning and he can’t breathe_ —

“—tor? Viktor, are you alright?”

This time, Viktor is sure that the voice does not belong to Yakov or Lilia. He blinks once, twice, and the memory melts away and he’s back at the local rink with Yuuri—sweet, wonderful, Yuuri who looks at Viktor with a softness he does not deserve but drinks up selfishly anyway—kneeling before him, hands warm and steady on Viktor’s knees.

“We don’t have to skate if you don’t want to.” Yuuri says carefully, brows furrowed in worry.   

“I’m fine,” Viktor blurts out, covering Yuuri’s hands with his own in what is quickly becoming a familiar gesture of comfort between them. “I want to skate.” Even with unfamiliar skates encasing his feet and the memory of his last time in the competitive circuit hanging over him like a phantom, there’s little that Viktor wants more at this very moment than to get on the ice and skate.

(Except perhaps to find out if Yuuri’s lips feel as soft as they look.)

Chewing on his bottom lip, Yuuri straightens up from where he was kneeling in front of Viktor, who quickly reaches out to put steadying hands on Yuuri’s hip. Not that Yuuri needs it, standing up on his skates without so much as a tiny wobble. “Well, if you’re sure.”

“I am,” Viktor breathes out, using his grip on Yuuri’s hips to lever himself up off the bench.

It ends up being one of the best and worst things Viktor has ever done in his life because it has Yuuri stumbling and leaning against him for support, so that the two of them are pressed tight together just like in one of those romantic cliches that Viktor complains about but consumes by the barrelful. And just like in each and every single one of those romantic cliches, Viktor’s eyes are immediately drawn to Yuuri’s lips—parted and close enough to taste.

“Come on,” he says, once he’s convinced himself that _yes, kissing your author counts as sexual harassment and will get you fired_. Viktor takes a step back and is immediately treated to the sight of Yuuri looking up at him dazedly and has to swallow down the desert in his throat. “Let’s skate while the rink’s still empty.”

Yuuri wordlessly allows himself to be led to the rink and Viktor would worry that he’d crossed some line earlier, if not for the warm and comforting weight of Yuuri’s hand in his. Their skate guards are quickly shed, left on top of the barrier by the rink’s entrance until all that’s left is to actually get on the ice.

Before he can second-guess himself yet again, Yuuri gets on the ice with a parting squeeze to his hand, gliding past him with a grace that takes Viktor’s breath away. Viktor won’t lie and say that he had no ulterior motives when he’d invited Yuuri out to skate, because he did. The entire outing is an ulterior motive if he was being completely honest, and it involves holding Yuuri’s hand for the entire afternoon while Viktor guided him on the ice. Of course, now that they’re here and now that he’s watching Yuuri perform a twizzle, it occurs to Viktor that he failed to factor in the possibility that Yuuri would not only know how to skate but have good form too.

With Yuuri on the ice and skating like a dream, Viktor finds it easier to get rid of his fears and doubts, and with a shaky breath, the blades of his borrowed skates finally meet the ice. If this was a story, Viktor thinks that the moment would be accompanied by some poignant line about finally coming home, or maybe something like _the ice greeted him like an old friend_ , because that’s exactly how Viktor feels as he glides towards Yuuri.

Yuuri, who’s been watching him with wide eyes and a look that sends Viktor’s heart racing, like the adrenaline rush right before a jump.

“You have good form,” he says, coming to a stop in front of Yuuri. “Were you a dancer?” It’s a question that’s been niggling at his mind the moment he saw Yuuri step onto the ice, moving with an effortless grace that Viktor knows is anything but.

Yuuri’s mouth drops open, and for a second, he looks as if he’s about to fall over. Viktor’s already reaching out to steady him as he wobbles unsteadily, color high on his cheeks. “I—uh, thank you. I—I did ballet?” Yuuri says, tone uncertain. As if he can’t quite believe that they were having this conversation. “When I was younger. Or well, I still sorta dance ballet sometimes. And I used to skate too.”

“Why did you stop?” Because Yuuri moves like someone who loves the ice and has devoted hours practicing figures. “Sorry,” Viktor adds, wincing when he catches sight of the afflicted look on Yuuri’s face. He’s the last person who should be asking _that_ given his history. “You don’t have to answer that—”

“No, it’s fine!” Yuuri says, before continuing with a rueful smile, digging his toepick into the ice. “It’s—well, I fell out of love with the ice.”

Viktor’s eyes widen, eyebrows rising at Yuuri’s words and has to stop himself from saying, _me too, I did too, but then you gave it back to me_.

“I lost my inspiration for it and I just couldn’t do it anymore. I mean, I tried to keep up with it. Suck it up. But I just felt lost so I stopped.” And then Yuuri scoffs, adding, “I mean, I guess it sounds silly when I put it that way—”

“It’s not silly,” he says with a shake of his head, one hand coming up to cradle Yuuri’s cool cheek and halting whatever self-deprecating refrain Yuuri is about to let out with a thumb pressed against Yuuri’s chin. The sound of the blades against the ice is almost deafening as Viktor moves closer, close enough that he can see his reflection on Yuuri’s glasses and closer still that he can feel the warmth that Yuuri emanates. “I think it’s important to have a reason to do things,” he says in a whisper, thumb brushing across Yuuri’s plump bottom lip and feeling it quiver.

“Why did you want to go skating today?”

“I wanted to reclaim the ice. Make new memories.” Viktor answers easily, staring straight into Yuuri’s eyes. “How about you, Yuuri? Do you still feel lost when you step on the ice?”

This close, Viktor can feel the shiver that passes through Yuuri, can hear Yuuri’s throat working as he swallows, can feel the brush of thick, dark lashes against his cheeks as Yuuri goes heavy-lidded, looking far too beautiful under the stark lighting of the rink.

“No. Not anymore,” Yuuri breathes out into the air between them, hands coming up to rest on his chest and leaning up, the distance between them dwindling to nothing with every second that passes. “Viktor—”

“Yuuri!” A familiar voice trills, shattering the silence and causing Yuuri to take a hasty step away, arms windmilling as they both stare at the direction of the rink entrance where a familiar blond head is peeking over the boards. “You’re skating?!”

God, Viktor wants to cry.

He also wants to turn back time and reel Yuuri back instead of watching him skate away, towards Yuri Plisetsky who’s definitely giving Viktor the smuggest expression he’s seen on a six-year-old, before looking back at Yuuri like the wide-eyed ingenue he most definitely is not.

That two-faced little brat!

“Yura, Hi!” Yuuri greets, voice unnaturally high and from here, Viktor can see the way Yuuri’s ears are a bright red, a reminder of what almost, almost transpired, if not for annoying six-year-olds. “Who’re you—oh! Hello, Beka! Is Inkar with you?”

“She’s at the counter waiting for our teacher.” A new voice, belonging to a dark-haired little boy, answers just as Viktor comes to a stop next to Yuuri.

Once he does, Yuri’s eyes narrow, a scowl twisting up his entire face. “What’re _you_ doing here?”

“Yura,” Yuuri warns, and Viktor doesn’t even bother fighting the smirk that creeps into his lips. “Viktor’s here with me.”

Face twisting up even further in anger, Yuri hisses in Russian, “ _I’m watching you_ ,” startling his friend, who was now looking at Viktor with wide eyes.

Yuuri opens his mouth to scold the boy again, but Viktor steps in, placing a proprietary hand on Yuuri’s hip and smiling beatifically.

“ _Then watch me._ ”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Almost Kiss Counter: 1
> 
> The Russian is just basically:  
> "Have fun on your date."  
> "It's not a date."
> 
> EXCEPT IT IS AND YOU GUYS AREN'T FOOLING ANYONE!!!!
> 
> I made an executive decision to have Cyrillic when it's Yuuri's POV and none when it's Viktor's because...reasons. Also. Naak and Inkar are...Phichit and Otabek's older sisters, respectively. I just...I just wanted them to have sisters, IDEK. 
> 
> Anyway. Next chapter, we'll finally have the scene that started all of this (hint: there's a club involved) and we will learn just exactly why Chris and Yuuri know each other (if it wasn't already obvious). HAHA. ALSO. I'm taking like...mini-requests for this on my tumblr (alykapediaaa).


End file.
